


Lost in the Gloaming

by sleepingseeker



Series: Lost in the Gloaming [2]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Temptation, Uncle/Niece Incest, idolatry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael's very slowly growing affection for KoKoa (Leo and Karai's surviving daughter) turns into something uneasy as she reaches young adulthood and crushes on her much older, aloof uncle. A blend of comic/2k3 universes. First published on FF.net in January 2014</p><p>RATED M for Taboo/sensitive subject matter and sexual situations, swearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know this topic is more than a bit Taboo, but I'm gonna explore it. If you are a bit too uncomfortable with this, please move along. I mean no offense. So, consider fair warning. Okay?
> 
> You really need to read, No Antidote, to understand just who the hell KoKoa is and what happened to Leo. The boys are no longer boys, they are closing in on fifty years old, the traveling through the 'twilight' years so to speak. Thus the title. KoKoa is Leo and Karai's surviving daughter. 
> 
> This has no relation to the Tender Trap series and is its own little evil creation existing in conjunction to No Antidote. Rated M for a really good reason. You'll see you naughty sweethearts...now, let's get on with it! Shall we?

* * *

* * *

The motorcycle rumbled to a halt and even before the engine completely halted, Raphael slammed the kick stand down and leapt off the seat. His left knee throbbed with the arthritis he'd developed from injuring it time and time again over the years. He limped through the alley, head swinging left and right as he looked for her. Her call had been urgent and ended before he could get much more out of her than a location.

" _KoKo_ ," he hissed.

"Hi, Raph," she said, emerging from the shadows in a smooth effortless way that would have made her deceased parents shine with pride. The easy way she addressed him by his full name was a sore point that she continued to ignore whenever she wanted. Only referring to him as 'uncle' in front of Don or April or Mikey.

He ripped his helmet off, felt the familiar shock of seeing his dead brother's eyes reflected before him in the young woman in such precise detail that still, after nearly fourteen years, it hurt to look upon. He spent her childhood staying away from her. As far away as possible. It hurt too much to look into those stormy blue eyes and see Leo there over and over again like a punishment. It was hard enough to come to terms with the fact that his brother had given up trying to live and had left him and his brothers behind with this painful reminder of his absence. What made things worse was that as she grew up she became something more than special because of who she was.

As she got older, he tried even harder to keep his distance. Everyone thought he disliked her, even hated her. He liked it that way. It was easier that way. Because he couldn't face the truth. There was something wrong with him.

He'd never admit it to his brothers or himself but there was another reason he didn't want to be around her. A shame that he did his best to keep buried. He was old enough to be her grandfather, not to mention she was his niece, whether or not Leo and he were related by blood or not, it was wrong. But still, as she grew from an annoying kid into a young woman, he found her extremely attractive. Hell, she was gorgeous. A perfect blend of human and mutant turtle characteristics. It didn't help anything that she had her mother's dangerous charm. And his exact eyes. Those beautiful fuckin' eyes.

With Donatello's urging and Mikey's determination to make a relationship work between them, Raphael had come to grudgingly accept there was no way around it. He did his best, but they continued to drown him, completely unaware that their good intentions were slowly tearing him to pieces.

He eventually stopped disappearing when she came to the lair where he and Mikey lived and started to accept the invitations that Don and April sent to him for family gatherings. Don and April had practically raised the girl. But since Master Splinter's death, when she turned seventeen, KoKo had started a rebellious phase that she didn't seem to realize put her and the rest of the family at higher and higher risk. She'd been sneaking out and getting herself into dangerous situations, causing April's hair to gray and Don to get deep circles around his eyes. Everyone turned to him to intercede, thinking and reasoning, that of them all he'd understand best what she was going through. He was shoved into her secret life, forced into a role he never wanted, but couldn't refuse.

_God damn them._

Despite his aloof demeanor towards her or perhaps because of it, she became ever enamored with him. She had an unfortunate habit of draping herself over his shoulders when he was trying to read. Of tracing her fingertips along the back of his shell. Torturing him without knowing what she was doing to him . . . at least he wanted to believe in her innocence in the matter. It was up to him to remain composed and keep things familial and proper.

He was her uncle. He was the keeper of her secrets. He was her rescuer. And she was his everlasting torment.

He clenched his jaw and opened his mouth to start a lecture that would have made his brother proud when the words died in his throat. KoKoa stumbled forward. He dropped his helmet and lurched forward to catch her. The old leather of his jacket and pants creaked with the motion. His knee screamed in protest from the swift movement. He caught the smell of hard liquor and blood. When he looked up he saw a man lying in a crumbled heap in the shadows.

"KoKo, what the fuck?"

She got her feet under her and scrambled to stand, but Raphael held her elbows firmly in his large hands. She raised her storm-colored eyes up to him and gazed at him from under a heavy fringe of black lashes. His heart tripped and he pushed away any errant thought that drifted around the edges of his mind. He gave himself a mental shake and her a physical one. Gently though, she was so petite that his fingers touched his thumbs around her upper arms. He would never hurt her. Not in any way.

"Okay, girlie. Spill."

She winced and grimaced. She folded closer to him, nuzzling her tiny, soft frame into his broad chest. She whined quietly into the front of his throat, her voice vibrating against his skin and breath tickling it in such a way that goose pimples rose up over his body. He shut his eyes. Trying to close himself off. Put the wall up between them, but failing miserably. It was wrong. Over the liquor and blood she smelled like summer rain.

"Can we just go home?"

Sometimes she seemed too old for her years and other times too young. Much, much too young. Raph kept his hands out, not touching her, not encouraging the physical contact, but doing nothing to stop it. She writhed, a slight curl of her chest, brushing her curves enough against him to make the shame knot in his gut and the desire rise and tightened in his loins.

_Dammit_.

He reminded himself whose daughter she was. That she was his niece. A mantra he'd had to adopt over time. A protective chant that lulled his lonely nights to sleep when thoughts drifted to uneasy, uncomfortable territory. He swallowed loudly. Then with gentle motion he pried her away from his warming, traitorous, body already missing and longing for the touch of her nubile form. He cleared his throat.

"First tell me about this guy."

"I will on the way home," she replied with a sly smile, eyes twinkling and he crumbled.

The feel of her arms clinging around his torso, fingers splayed across his chest, the front of her body pressed tight to his shell, inner thighs against his outer, felt like sweet damnation as they rode home. Even the cool night air against his bare face, did little to cool his rising temperature.

_She is Leonardo's daughter_ , he reminded himself and clenched his jaw.

His stomach flipped and dropped when he found Michelangelo was not home. His mind and body immediately split down the middle. No. This wasn't happening. It was up to him to be the adult here. He marched through the turnstiles and stomped to the phone in the kitchen. KoKoa followed behind, slowly removing his helmet. She tossed it in the corner where a pile of his outerwear lay. Then pulled off her boots and tossed them next to it.

"What are you doing?" she called out.

"Calling Don."

She gasped. "What?"

Her eyes were wide as he pinched the phone between cheek and chin. She ran over to him. The silky material of her short skirt hugged her thighs and clung to her bouncing breasts in a way that made it impossible not to notice that she was bra-less. Raphael spun around and braced one hand against the bricks and swore under his breath. Why did April let her go out dressed like that? She stood on tip toe, hands clasped together in front of him. He turned his back to her.

"Uh, hey April. Don there? Yeah."

KoKoa scurried to the front of him and followed again as he spun to avoid looking at her, effectively wrapping himself around with the cord of the phone.

"Please, please, please, Uncle Raphie," she pleaded, using the hated nickname as well as his proper title.

He smirked. He was doing the right thing. He should be proud of himself. But something felt like disappointment in the pit of his stomach. She bounced again in front of him. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. He knew it was a bad idea. But a part of him wanted this, even though he'd never admit it to himself. He looked away as Don's voice came through on the phone. He scratched at his brow, leaning onto his elbow.

"Hey, Don. Uh, Just wanted to tell you, uhm, oh yeah, I hear him, tell Mikey I said hi, too. Yeah, uh, I just . . ." his eyes darted to KoKoa who was giving him the most pathetic look, he rubbed his forehead with the side of his finger and couldn't help but give her a wry smile. Fuck it. "I just wanted to tell you that KoKo's staying here tonight. That okay?"

There was a pause. A stretch of silence that said too much and Raph's face grew hot with each passing second. If Don had suspected something more than dislike or a reminder of their deceased brother kept Raph from being around KoKoa, it would have been because in the past year or so, he found himself flushed and flustered around her. Especially at times like when he'd come over to watch a movie with them. KoKoa would run over and snuggle up with him to watch it. Right in front of Donatello and April. Draping her legs over his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck, pinning him in place like an insect under glass.

He couldn't move her away without making it painfully aware that he was flustered and aroused and yet, if he continued to sit there, it looked bad. Really bad from the way Don was looking at him; with a piercing, intense scrutiny. She was constantly putting him in these desperate situations. And something told him she enjoyed every minute of it. She was too much like her mother. Perhaps Donatello recognized the behavior as well. He'd finally let his anger guide him and in a huff he'd stand, knocking her clear on her ass to the floor and march out of the house.

He cleared his throat roughly. "That okay with you? I could send her home," he offered and from the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head miserably. His offer seemed to snap Donatello out of his thoughts. The reluctant permission was given. The words ground out and forced. And Raphael cursed himself and his brother for his silent accusations.

Maybe if the guy who always wanted to 'talk' about things actually came to him and was honest about what he suspected, maybe Raph would have someone to confess his confused feelings to. Maybe he could be saved from the deep shame and his very real fear that he was nothing more than a creep. Then again, he was never good at talking with any of his family. He was doomed. He slammed the phone down after a gruff goodbye. Then stood there, staring at the phone; wondering if this was a good idea after all.

Her fingers were suddenly on him, undoing the cord around him. Her soft arms brushing against him, the scent of summer rain, had him jerking away and ducking. Freed, he wheeled around and attacked the fridge, ducking his head inside. He emerged with a juice box for her and a beer for himself.

She caught the offending drink and glowered at him. "You do know I'm an adult."

"Hardly," he teased.

"I'm eighteen," she bragged and threw the juice box onto the table.

"Exactly. Just a kid."

She cocked her head to one side in a manner that was too reminiscent of her mother. A sharp look came into her eyes that looked too much like a challenge. He twisted the cap free from his beer and drank deeply, thinking that he needed another one before even finishing the one in his hand. He set down the bottle and started to take off his jacket when she was next to him helping. Once again, too close. Much too close.

"Givin' grandpa a hand?" he teased with a chuckle even as he sidled out of her reach, backing up and away from her like she was a coiled viper.

She made a disapproving sound with her mouth. He kept his eyes glued to the bottle as he threw the jacket onto the back of one chair. Then snatching up the beer, he moved into the living room. As he sat down he heard the fridge open and close and then she was there sitting in the worn love seat that her father used to sit in to read. Raph closed his eyes and rubbed them to remove the vision. When he opened them again KoKoa sat there, smiling triumphantly at him as she took a drink of beer.

"Hey, KoKo, what the fuck, you ain't old enough ta' drink," he tried. But he was never good at disciplining her, leaving that up to her pseudo parents and Mikey. He just tried his best to stay out of the way.

"It's just beer."

He rolled his eyes. He switched gears. "You wanna tell me about the guy we left in the alley?"

"Oh, him?" She wrinkled her nose. And it sent a strange feeling through him. He dropped his gaze to the bottle in his hands, studied the label with intense scrutiny. "He was a grabby asshole." His amber eyes snapped back to her. Face turned to the side, eyes narrowed.

"Come again?"

She motioned with one hand towards her small but rounded breasts with a clawing motion as she drank another long slow pull from the bottle. He felt the back of his neck heat uncomfortably. She kept her eyes glued on him as she actually squeezed her breast. His eyes widened. And he swore to god she knew what she was doing to him. And it was all wrong. In so many ways. She licked the mouth of the bottle and Raphael's mouth went dry as his mind blanked.

Then casually she clarified, "You know, hands all over the place. A grabby asshole."

The words sunk in and then the meaning struck home. Raphael's blood turned to ice then boiled. He jumped to his feet, gripping the bottle in one fist. KoKoa quailed back into the chair, blue eyes in circles.

_"What?!"_  he roared.

"Geez, relax."

"Relax? How the fuck do you . . . what were you doin' . . . how the hell did he get close enough to ya . . . KoKo, start explainin'  _now_!" he hollered.

She shrugged. "It's no big deal. He was really cute and I was curious."

The edges of his vision clouded red. If the guy wasn't dead he was gonna be in a minute.


	2. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, several readers suggested this could be set in the far future of my Tender Trap series, and I can definitely see that - but alas, it isn't meant to be - you will understand when I finally get the courage to start part 3. It's not forgotten, guys, I swear. But if you wish, you may think of this as an alternative future of Tender Trap - but it can exist within its own universe as well. And that's how I will be approaching it. (Updated to add Sins of the Fathers: The Tender Trap 3 will be started as soon as I finish I, Alone and A Son for a Daughter which are both wrapping up)
> 
> Please don't kill me. I have some high hopes for getting into some deep stuff with this story. We're gonna tip toe along some razor sharp lines, my dear readers. I only hope I do not disappoint. Just . . . Just come along and . . . trust me.

Donatello stared at the phone sitting in the charger. His fingers twitched. His heart pounded. The familiar annoying tick in his lower right eyelid started up again. April was convinced it was all the time he spent in front of the computer, but he knew the source of the irritant was stress. Stress revolving around his niece; his adopted daughter. It wasn't official but he and April had raised her, along with a lot of help from Mikey. So didn't that make her theirs? At least, he knew April thought of her as her daughter. Their daughter. What might have been if only she had whatever Karai possessed within her genes to accept the mutant DNA and bless Leonardo with a daughter? But that just wasn't good enough for Leo. Donatello huffed.

What he would've given to have had children with April. He once thought that if something happened to April he would give up; but after raising KoKoa, he wasn't sure that he wouldn't do everything in his power to survive, to make sure his children were cared for and loved and safe. Sometimes, he couldn't believe that Leo gave up like that. Was Karai's hold on him really that powerful? Apparently, even their daughter could not keep him here without his love. It was sad. But it also made Donatello irrationally angry. KoKoa deserved her father. She needed him. He ran a hand over his face.

She was growing into a wild young lady, a little too much like her birth mother. Leonardo would have known how to handle her. He had fallen in love with her mother, after all. He alone possessed the patience of dealing with her fiery nature as well as a full understanding of that mysterious woman. KoKoa needed the firm, but gentle nature that was Leonardo's core personality. Donatello too often waffled between strict domineering rules and leniency. He never seemed to quite know how to address certain issues. It didn't help that April turned a blind eye to much of the problems. She lived in a perpetual state of denial when it came to KoKoa's misbehavior and rule breaking.

KoKoa as a small child was charming and sweet. Disarming and beguiling. Now that she was a young woman, she was aggressive and defiant, independent and willful. She had a dangerous charm about her and a curiosity of human men that gave April gray hair and him more creases and worry lines around his eyes. But that didn't cause him the same depth of anxiety in him as much as her obvious interest in Raphael, her uncle. It made him nervous and uncomfortable, the way she hung on him, always stroking him and touching him. And the way he looked at her . . . Donatello reached out and gripped the cordless phone in his fist.

She was just a kid. Wild, sure. But too young to know what she was doing. And right now, she was at his brother's home. Alone. Donatello chewed the inside of his cheek. If he insisted to come get her, it would be an insult to Raphael. He would be upset and possibly hurt. The action would insinuate that he wasn't trusted. No. Don replaced the phone. It shouldn't be a problem. There was no reason to be worried. He could trust Raph to be responsible. In control of himself. He had to trust him. And yet.

The gnawing unease continued and he struggled with the indecision. Part of him wanted to call his brother right back and tell him he was coming to pick her up. Right now. No arguing. Another part strained against it; there was no reason for it. No legitimate reason to head out in the night to fetch her from her uncle's place. And yet. That wasn't quite true. He had seen Raphael's intense gaze on her in rare moments when unguarded. It was unnerving and caused many sleepless nights. He hadn't had the courage to bring it up directly with April. He was afraid of casting Raphael in an unfair light. Years of branding him the official 'black sheep' of the family in his mind made him hesitant to paint his brother's character in such broad, damning strokes. He hadn't done anything wrong, not really, in years and years.

After Leo left with Karai to Japan, he had disappeared for a while. There was a period of time that Don had feared he had been killed or worse . . . committed suicide. Raph was a complete mess after Leo had left. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic and Don had little sympathy to give to him while he was trying to forge his own life with April. Leo had a right to live his life in happiness. It was dangerous for the couple to remain in America. Karai had friends in Japan who could help them live in secrecy. It became even more important for them to hide and continue to move about when they learned of her impossible pregnancy. Raphael withdrew and eventually, for the most part, accepted that Leo had to protect his wife and child. He did not need to look after three over-grown brothers more than capable of caring for themselves.

Until he came back and allowed despair and a broken heart to severe all remaining ties between him and his brothers. Then Raphael disappeared again. And the familiar drag of dread pulled at Donatello, worried that Mikey was going to call him to report where he'd found Raph's body: wrists slashed, or worse, hung. In part, it was Mikey that continued to be the bridge between him and Raph. Keeping Raph sane by moving in with him, keeping Don informed of Raph working odd jobs and any other encouraging news that renewed Don's faith in Raph and his desire to live. If not for Mikey, Don would have lost contact with Raph. Of that, he was certain. Overall, he was happy that that didn't happen. And yet. Now, things were complicated. He sighed.

Behind him he could hear Mikey joking with April over the sound of the popcorn popping. He wondered if Mikey shared his shameful fears about their brother. Part of him desperately wanted to talk to him about it, but the last time he even hinted at the dark suspicions and fears he held about Raphael, Mikey had gotten defensive and angry. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for ever bringing Raph back into their lives, her life, and getting him so involved. He just had no idea what was coming over her and at the time it seemed like a perfect solution. Who understood angst and unsettling longing better than his younger brother? It would also be a way to get Raph back into the family that he seemed content to believe wanted nothing to do with him.

"Popcorn is all set, did you pop in the DVD?"

Donatello turned to April. Mikey collapsed into the couch behind her. A large bowl of buttered kernels on his lap.

"Uh, no. April. KoKoa is staying with Raph tonight. That okay with you?"

April blinked and hesitated. In that moment he knew she worried the same as he. And he wondered how much did April see? How much did she decide she did  _not_? But he watched her expression shift into a blank state of denial and again the irrational anger rushed through him. A shallow smile filled her face, one that didn't quite meet her eyes and she shook her head.

He quickly said, "I could go pick her up. I mean, there's no reason I couldn't."

"What?" Mikey asked in disbelief. "C'mon, you're just trying to get out of seeing this with us!" He sat up and shot an imploring look to April. "April! Tell him! He lost the card game, we got to pick the movie! It's not fair."

April laughed but Donatello felt the situation slipping out of his control. He licked his lips.

"I'd only be gone a few minutes."

Mikey shook his head. April shrugged. "There's no need, Donnie, hon. Let her spend some quality time with Raph."

"Yeah, the old grump could use some bonding time with KoKo. Maybe she can soften him up a bit for us. At least, Raph can keep her out of trouble for a night while you relax and enjoy the movie me and April picked."

It was over. There was no way he could insist on going now. Not without incriminating his brother. And thus getting into a huge fight with both April and Mikey. His stomach curled but he sat down heavily as April fed the DVD into the player. She sat next to him and reached out to hold his hand. She gave it a little squeeze, shooting a sidelong glance in his direction. If there was concern in her eyes, it was quickly hidden.

"She'll be fine."

He dropped his eyes as the title of the movie, 'House of Flying Daggers', came up. Mikey and April had been on a foreign film kick of late and he would have much preferred an episode of Nova or even Downtown Abbey to this.

"One of the main characters' names is Leo, Donnie. Isn't that cool?"

Donnie's eyes snapped up, he glanced at Mikey who was genuinely excited about the fact. He sighed and nodded and the knots in his stomach tightened. If he believed in such things, he would have taken it as a sign. He wondered how things would have been different had Leo lived. It was one of the few moments in his life that Donatello felt nearly exactly the same as Raphael.

He felt abandoned.

* * *  _Years ago. Too many to count. And yet, just like yesterday . . ._  * * *

Mikey was coloring in one of his picture books. Donatello watched him with a scowl. He hated seeing books ruined, pages torn or missing, scribbled on or defaced in other ways. It made his skin crawl. Master Splinter had told him not to do that. But Mikey always forgot things like rules. At least he wasn't as bad as Raph who remembered but never followed them.

He glanced up to the large pipes sticking out at odd angles above where he and Mikey sat. Mikey was sprawled on his stomach, humming and talking to himself as he colored in all the white spaces he could in patterns and intricately designed swirls; sometimes with more than one color tucked into his sweaty fist. Donatello had a thick book about trains on his lap. Some of the pages were rippled with water damage, but he could still make out the captions under the black and white photographs, which explained what types of engines were displayed and other pertinent information. Above him, Raphael climbed. Dust and russet colored flakes of metal rained down over them. Donnie brushed them from his pages only to find that the action made it smear across the paper. A long streak of dark orange blotted out some of the typeface. He gasped then looked up angrily.

"Darn it, Raphie! You're killin' my book!" His voice echoed and bounced around them. Raph ignored him, as he always did. He continued to climb. Higher and higher. Somewhere above, there was a large grate, the dying light of the outside world seeped from between the bars. As usual, Raph was getting as close to the upper world as he dared. The pipes shook and groaned, raining more rust down on them. Mikey continued coloring happily and oblivious to being coated in the dusting of metal. One chubby, but filthy, foot kicked back and forth.

Donnie huffed but sat up straighter as Leo came around the bend, sweating and looking nervous and jittery. He always did after his training with their father. He stopped abruptly in the alcove, looking from Mikey to Donnie. He wiped his snout with the heel of one hand and sniffled. If Donnie didn't know better, he would have thought that Leo had been crying. He squinted. Did . . . Did Leo have marks on his arms? Master Splinter was always strict, but he was hardest on Leonardo. Always. The others accepted the fact that it just came with the territory of being eldest. You had to get things right. You had to be perfect. But that was Leo's job.

"Hey you guys."

Even his voice seemed waver-y. Donatello decided that it wasn't important. Leo was usually upset after his long training sessions with their father. He never seemed to get anything right and stayed longer than any of them. It was his problem, anyway, as oldest. Besides, there were more pressing matters to worry about. Namely his book's defacement. Leo was just the person Don wanted to see. He held his book out to show the damning evidence of Raph's misbehavior.

Leo looked at it then raised his eyes to Donnie. "Oh, uh, a book about trains. That's nice."

Don shook his head hard. He pointed up. "Raph is up there and he's making a mess on us and doesn't even care that he's ruining my book."

"What?" Leo asked alarmed and then tipped his head back. He jerked and scrambled to the ladder bolted to the bricks in the wall. "Raph! Oh my gosh! Get down! Right now!" His voice cracked.

Leo was turning twelve in a week and suddenly every other word out of his mouth seemed to squeak and break. Don propped one hand on his cheek, watching the scene with interest. Leo was afraid of heights. They all knew that. And Raph was a trouble maker who didn't ever listen. Don was very interested to see what was going to happen. Mikey stopped coloring and sat up. He shoved Donatello's arm and pinched him.

" _Yeouch_! Mikey!"

"Go get Splinter!" Mikey shouted, an uncharacteristically angry look on his face.

Don rubbed his arm, scowling at his youngest brother. Sometimes Mikey was the most annoying eight year old on the planet.

"Why'd you do that, you imp!?"

"Raphie's gonna . . ."

But before he could finish his sentence there came an enormous groan. It came from all around them, startling the two into grasping at each other. The walls shook and dust, chips of mortar, and debris rained down on them in various sized chunks. Leo scrambled away from the ladder, both arms covering his head as he looked up; his shouting voice was completely muffled by the roaring, screeching of pipes pulling from walls and bricks crumbling around them. Leo jumped first to one side then another as broken pipes fell and bounced around him. Donnie and Mikey scuttled backwards just as a number of pipes crashed down where they had just been sitting. There was a high pitched yelp that rose above the chaos and Donnie knew it was Raph. He'd been hurt.

As the dust clouds rose and began to settle, Leo, ears ringing, continued to cry out for his brother. He wiped his eyes and blinked through the thick haze. He gasped and grabbed his head. Donnie lurched forward, but he and Mikey were trapped behind a criss-crossing pile of pipes. He ducked and just made out the shape of his brother dangling from a metal beam in the center of the ceiling. Too far from the grate to get to him from above, too high up to reach from below. Leo would have to climb up and cross the beam to get him. Before Don could even explain this, his brother was climbing, hand over hand, without hesitation up the ladder. He stopped to shove a clump of pipe and brick from his way and continued going up.

"I'm comin' Raph! I'm comin'! Hang on!"

"Leo! I c-can't! I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna . . . !"

"No! I'm coming! You won't fall. I promise!"

Donatello held his breath as Leo reached the beam and with a swing of his body he twisted and grabbed it, then scrambled around to the top and scurried to where Raph dangled. He pressed his body flat against the surface and reached down.

"Grab my arm, Raph!"

"N-No! I'm gonna fall!"

"I won't let you! Raph, I won't!"

Raph shook his head. "I can't!" he squeaked.

"Yes you can! Please! You gotta trust me!"

And Don watched, heart in his throat as in a rash moment of truth, Raph let go of the pipe to grip Leo's arm. For a second, Leo lurched to one side and crying out, grabbed harder with his other arm, wrapped around the pipe. He made a strangled sound as Raph kicked and swore until he scrambled up and over to Leo's shell, using his brother's arm as a rope. For a moment, they stayed like that, Raph hugging Leo's shell with his eyes closed and Leo panting from between gritted teeth. Then Raph came to his senses and clambered off his brother and made it to the ladder. He climbed down with wild eyes; Leo right behind him. When they reached the bottom, they ran over and dug out Mikey and Donnie from the hole they were trapped in made from the debris.

Mikey was looking at the devastation, while Donnie could just stand there and blink, shocked. Leo was trembling hard from head to toe. Raph turned and hugged him tightly. He let go and stepped back.

"Thanks Leo."

Leo nodded, but was a funny color. He twisted and was immediately sick.

"Gross!" Mikey called with a chuckle and Donnie shot him a glare.

Raphael bent and rubbed Leo's shell as he continued to empty his stomach. He was panting and wiping his bottom lip when he said, "I'm . . . sorry. Th-The heights . . . I'm . . . a little dizzy."

Raphael stared at him in wonder. He stayed crouched next to his oldest brother, rubbing his shell, eyes watching him, taking in how hard he was shaking and realizing how scary it must have been for him, yet he still came for him. He still saved him, despite his terror. Only then did he notice the bruising on his brother's arm and his stomach twisted.

"Leo . . ." he said, staring at the marks.

Leo covered his arm and stood up and away from Raph. He laughed nervously. Raph looked up at him as he turned and looked around.

"Uhm, is everyone okay?" They looked from one another back to Leo. Donnie dusted himself off and Raph stood up, he had a few scrapes but nothing too bad. They nodded to Leo, confirming they were alright. "Th-That's good. Uh, so, so . . . no one has to tell Splinter about this, okay?"

They stared at him in silence. Leo never lied to Splinter. He was always going on and on about honor and telling the truth.

"But . . . Leo, Raph was . . ." Don shot Raph a look and Raph returned the look with a mix of anger and hurt. "He ruined my book," Donnie pressed, still feeling the sting of having to bear the brunt of Raphael's misbehavior. Now, not only was his book destroyed, it was buried under all this mess. He'd never get it back. "He should get in trouble for trying to go up!" Donnie insisted, trying to make them see that it wasn't just about another possession that Raph had wrecked but something bigger. Leo only stood there blinking at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Donnie," Leo said in a quiet voice. He licked his bottom lip and went on slowly, "Master Splinter says I'm . . . responsible. If he finds out . . ."

"I won't tell," Mikey said, stepping between the brothers. He crossed his arms. "I won't tell." His bottom lip poked out in a defiant pout.

"I'm sorry, Don. I'll get 'cha another book about trains. Okay?" Raph said and Donnie couldn't help but feel outnumbered and angry. This was always happening it seemed. Raph did something bad and Leo covered for him. Raph did something stupid and Leo saved the day. It wasn't fair. He just wanted to read his book in peace.

"Okay?" Raph asked again and exchanged a nervous glance with Leo who was still trembling, holding one arm.

"Whatever," he spat and marched around them, stumbling over the bricks and metal, banging his foot and daring to curse under his breath, " _Dammit_."

"Donnie," Leo said, anxiously after him.

"Don't worry, Leo," he sneered over his shoulder. "I won't tell. Raph gets away with everything as usual!"

Mikey ran after Donnie, leaping easily over the larger chunks. "Hey, wait up!"

Leo and Raph stood for a moment, lingering. Leo's eyes were huge and he continued to shiver as if he were cold.

"I'm really sorry, Leo," Raph said in a low hoarse voice.

"It's okay, Raph. You didn't mean it. How could you know it was gonna collapse like that. J-Just be more careful, okay?"

"No, I . . . I know . . . but I mean, I'm sorry about . . ." but the thought was too big for him to articulate and he left it struggling to take shape in his young mind. Donatello wasn't wrong. He was always getting himself into these types of messes. And Leo was constantly there to help him and constantly was the one to bear the repercussions of his misdeeds.

Leo smiled and shook his head, brushing the moment away just like that. Raph felt relief wash over him. Relished the easy, soft smile of his big brother. Somehow, Leo had a way of making everything better just by smiling. His blue eyes twinkled merrily and Raph felt happy. The terror of what he'd just gone through evaporated. Together they headed back to the lair.

"You shoulda' seen the look on your face when we got down," Raph said and pushed Leo. Leo stumbled to one side, chuckling.

"Well, at least I wasn't squealing like a baby pig."

Their laughter and gentle jeers continued on. Donatello pushed forward, trying to ignore how Leo never seemed to take him seriously and always ended up on Raph's side, no matter how bad he was acting. No matter what kind of trouble he was causing. It wasn't fair.

Somehow, it seemed wrong that Leo and Raph were closer than he and Leo were. Raph should have hung around Mikey more, leaving the older and wiser two brothers to be friends. To have secrets and adventures. But it never seemed to work out that way. Leo listened to him when he talked about his interests, but it wasn't like how he listened to Raph go on and on about some stupid motorcycle he saw in a magazine. He helped him with some of the repairs around the lair, but his eyes remained flat and unfocused, very different from the sharp look of focus when he and Raph sparred or when exploring the dump together when they'd go out scavenging. He was always so excited to see what Raph discovered.

Mikey bounced around him, his constant irritating shadow, jabbering nonsense as usual. Donnie rolled his eyes, nursing his jealousy and hurt over the unfairness of his brothers' easy camaraderie and the unfairness of always coming up short where Raph and Leo were concerned. He just didn't get it.

He figured he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, the 'theme' of this story has taken root in my mind: 'Can you love someone too much?'
> 
> I'll leave you to ponder to whom I am referring. Maybe all of them. Hopefully, it'll all be made clear as I go. eep!


	3. Catch Me

**Chapter 3 - Catch Me**

* * *

Raph stood in quaking fury only a moment longer before, with jaw clenching and unclenching, he stomped towards the kitchen to retrieve his jacket. KoKoa was up on her feet. She raced up behind him.

"Where're you going?" she asked, voice tinged with panic.

"Ta go break that asshole's neck."

She wheeled around him and held up her hands, beer bottle still clutched in her left. "No! You can't!"

"Oh no? Why's that?"

Her eyes bounced between his, pleading, and he found himself hesitating. The thought that maybe there was something more to this than he'd anticipated hit him. Did she have feelings for this guy? Why else would she be trying to protect him? A feeling like jealousy washed through him that he did his best to ignore. Her next words caught him off guard, however.

"It's over. It's taken care of."

His frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and the earlier panic was replaced with an easygoing charm that came so naturally to her. Slipping over her countenance like a silken robe, concealing all that she wanted, leaving revealed all that she chose. In the rare moments where he'd actually seen his brother interact with Karai, he'd seen her do this very trick. To smoothly switch from aggression to relaxed nonchalance. Bewitching his brother every time. Captivating him and pulling him in, distracting him from his focus. KoKo gave him a soft smile. His wretched heart tripped.

In a warning voice he said, "KoKo."

But the way she was cocking her head. The slow squirm as she rolled her shoulders had his eyes skimming over her bare shoulders; lingering on the hollows of her clavicle, the delicate tendons on the sides of her throat; coherent thoughts evaporating. The earlier fury dissipating and the heat was reconverging to southern regions of his body. Awakening parts of himself long neglected and hungry. He took a step back from her as though to move away from the source of her inadvertent sultriness; casting his eyes aside. At least, he wanted to believe that it was unconscious on her part. Because if it wasn't. He shook himself. Dangerous ground. He should know better, dammit. What the hell was wrong with him? Disgust churned in his stomach but the embers of his attraction only deepened.

_She's his daughter, Raph, reel it in._

She took a pull from the bottle and his eyes shot back in time to see her lips pursed around the mouth of the bottle. Something sharp tightened inside him. His breath gave a little gasp that he covered with a cough.

With a toss of her head, she said as though commenting on the weather, "I knifed him a little."

She stepped around his stunned form to toss the now empty bottle into the trash bin as her words sunk in. So that would explain the scent of blood on her when he first arrived at the alley earlier to pick her up. And why the guy was in a heap on the ground. Shit. If he was dead, there'd be trouble. It was one thing to kill off Purple Dragons and Foot soldiers during the heat of battles, where the enemy swept the area clean afterwards, both sides not wanting the attention of the authorities on them, but to kill a civilian was another matter entirely. There'd be trouble, all right. Possibly witnesses.

Panic had his old heart fluttering. This couldn't be happening. All those years of staying in the shadows undone by one silly, stubborn, wild little minx who didn't understand that she was playing not only with her own safety but the safety of her entire family. Eyes wide, he spun to follow her back towards the couches from the refrigerator where she'd grabbed another brew.

"Tell me you didn't do this."

She rolled around and flipped over the armrest of the loveseat, hooking her left leg up and over, leaving her right heel along the floor. The mini skirt a bare few inches of modesty covering the join of legs to body. He swallowed hard, feeling the intensifying heat pooling, but focused himself on what she'd just told him. Allowing the chill of her words to cool his forbidden need. Keeping his eyes focused on her face and no lower.

"Answer me. This is serious shit, KoKo. Don't just sit there actin' aloof and crap after . . . after tellin' me something like that!"

She smiled as he sputtered and took a drink from the new bottle she had gotten herself. "It's not a big deal. I know how to protect myself."

He strode towards her, rubbing his face in aggravation as he sat, heavily, onto the couch. The springs squealed in protest.

"Defending yourself is one thing, KoKo. Going out lookin' for trouble is another. Hasn't Don been teachin' ya this? And it  _is_  a big deal if someone saw ya out there. Or if you killed this guy." He shook his head then cocked it in her direction, afraid, but needing to know. "Did you?"

She made an aggravated noise and pointedly ignored him by picking at the label on the bottle. Her sculpted left leg bounced idly. He continued to stare at her in stony silence. After a minute she pressed her mouth into a line and shook her head. He dropped his hands between his bent knees. He eyed her from the side; swearing under his breath in relief. He frowned; narrowing his eyes; suddenly suspicious of her. A thought hit him. Was he being played?

"How do I know you ain't just making all this up so I don't go out and break your little boyfriend in half?"

She rolled her eyes and leaned over to set the bottle down on the floor. She threw her leg around and moved to sit up, folding them under her. "First of all, he isn't my boyfriend." Raph snorted, but the relief he felt was both monumental and discouraging. "It was just some guy that I spoke to a couple of times while he was coming and going from this one club."

Raph opened his mouth to lecture about how stupid that was of her, but decided to let her finish. He found it disturbing how much like Leonardo he'd become whenever he had to put up with KoKoa's 'behavioral issues', as Donatello had verbalized it. He couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by the girl's moxie. That was the problem, though. He was supposed to be helping straighten her out, not encouraging her wild behavior. But he couldn't help but be impressed by the girl's courage. They'd spent their first fifteen years cowering away from the human world and when they finally crept out from their hole of a home, they were usually always with each other for support and backup. At least until they were older.

Now here was KoKoa, tiny and feminine, exploring the dark alleys, the shadows of the night and the forbidden all on her own. It was risky and stupid. And it was impressive as hell. He felt his chest swell with pride for the girl. Knowing that she was putting Don through the wringer and knowing that Leo would have never allowed his daughter to be so . . . what? It wasn't just stubbornness. It wasn't just willful defiance of authority. Nah, it wasn't that. She was just . . . she was . . . like a wild fire. Free. That's what continued to draw him in: her edgy mystery; her embracing of the unknown with fierce wonder and voluptuous glee.

Danger was a partner that Raph had danced with too many times to count in his life. It made him feel. In those fleeting moments, he was alive. There was nothing else like it. To be so close to the razor's edge. To taste that bitter flavor and savor the sweetness of coming to the brink of disaster only to make it out by the skin of his teeth. How long had it been since he felt that rush? Since his lungs were filled to bursting with the night air and the hearty laughter from the giddy thrill of beating death one more time!

He was old, but he hadn't forgotten what it was like to live. To run and skim along the roof tops, to fly between the buildings almost as free as the birds that would scatter in fright by their passing; with his brother; his friend; his companion that knew him like no one else. The brother that shared his secret longing to leave the city; to travel to unknown places; to see and touch and taste what was hidden from them. What was unmentionable to speak of in their home. Of humans. Of women with their alluring mystery; their taboo beauty. To know what they couldn't but through the discarded books and blurry reception on the television screen late at night.

Leonardo understood better than Donnie or Mikey. Leonardo craving for freedom with an intensity that his own could barely match. But his yearnings were constantly smothered by duties and responsibilities heaped upon his young shoulders by a father who seemed to be blind to what it was doing to them. Keeping them imprisoned in a way. It was cruel. It was wrong. They both understood. They both wanted to live.

Raphael realized with a sudden pang that he wanted more than anything to once again be in that moment where his heart was a hammer against his vibrating soul. When the world was full of color and heat and the only thing missing was . . . the only thing missing that he'd never really understood with any clarity, at least, not until he watched his brother's eyes change when she first emerged from the shadows and stepped into their lives. When he watched him with growing unease as the infatuation took root and grew into something more. When he was unable to do anything about it as Leonardo fell; unable to catch hold of his brother as Leo had all those years ago in the alcove when the pipes groaned and screamed and the whole world started to collapse around him, when he trusted Leo to keep him from falling, despite his terror. Leo saved his life that day when he shirked his fear in order to protect him. But when it came time to reciprocate, Raph could do nothing to save him. No amount of arguing, teasing or the eventual pleading could steer him from his course. He could only watch helplessly as his brother plummeted and crashed; only to rise again; borne anew; carried aloft by some unknown force, filled with a new vibrancy, a light in his eyes that shone too brightly, a new exhilaration that suffused his entire body that no nightly run-in with the hands of death could mimic. The source of it all: Karai.

And ultimately, Raphael watched in stunned bafflement and infinite hurt as Leo slipped through his fingers. And he was set aside for someone else. Someone better.

He had to shake himself to pay attention to what she was saying now and he bit the side of his tongue for getting lost in his head like an old fool when she was trying to tell him something important. He hated how his mind had a habit of wandering to times long past. It did nothing but serve to make him full of melancholy listlessness.

"He'd never seen my face, not really. I always had a hoodie on or something. I'm careful. I always was. And I know I didn't kill him. I'm not  _stupid_ , Uncle Raphie."

He made a soft huff in protest of the hated nickname.

"I wanted to see him up close, you know? And we were in that alley, alone," she emphasized. "And I wanted to kiss him, but before I even had a chance, his hands were all up on me, groping and grabbing."

The rage flashed through him again, renewed and with a severity that had him clutching his arthritic knuckles until they were light green. To know that some filthy punk had his hands on her filled him with blinding fury. He trembled where he sat. No one should be touching her. Not like that. No fuckin' way. She was too precious for some low life human to be groping. She was too rare a prize to just be handed to some random asshole in some filthy alley.

But dammit, what was she thinking?! How could Don and April have allowed this to go on? Didn't they know she'd been sneaking out? Well, actually, he thought with grim truthfulness, they  _had_. That's why they had called him into their lives in the first place and gotten him so far up shit's creek that he didn't know where the hell he was anymore. Because they were at their wits ends. She was too much to handle. Hell, she was almost too much for him to deal with. Almost.

She was reckless. And bold. She was a blazing heat that spurred something raw and ravenous within him. It wasn't that he was attracted to her. It was so much more. He wanted to throw himself into that inferno and be consumed by her. He wanted to drown in those eyes that watched him, those deep pools that he yearned with a fever to at once never look upon again and want to stare into forever. His eyes. Those glorious, beautiful fucking eyes. The eyes that made him feel safe and protected yet at the same time, free.

She split him in two just by her existence. He despised Donatello for dragging him into this mess. He wished to god that he'd just stayed away as he planned. He never wanted to look into his lost brother's eyes again. Honestly, he hated her for it; for something she couldn't control, he knew it wasn't fair, but the pain was too sharp, too sweet, every time he looked into those eyes. The eyes of his most beloved friend. His throat worked as he gazed into them, unable to pull away. Cornered by her charm, trapped by her beauty and his own lust.

The familiar feeling of slipping, despite holding as tightly to his control and denial as he could, of falling helplessly, rushed through him. But Leo wasn't here to grab hold of him. To cease his plummet into the terrifying abyss that yawned out below him. The unknown. The forbidden. He realized then that he was damned. Because in that moment, he knew without a doubt that he would sell what remained of his tattered soul if she loved him as he feared he loved her; to live in a world where nothing would keep them apart. No recriminations, no guilt or shame. Kokoa, his brother's daughter. His niece. He felt hot and cold. Sickened and slightly giddy. He was going mad if he wasn't there already.

Her hand reach down to her right thigh and she pulled the hem of her skirt up, his pupils shrank as he watched her. From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that she smirked then, at his expression. He nearly broke out in a gasping laugh, but restrained himself by the barest remnants of what strength lingered in his condemned soul. Beneath the slip of material, so thin and easily torn, was a lacey garter, a switchblade tucked securely into it. The black handle contrasted with the muted emerald of the smooth flesh of her bare thigh. He trembled and gripped the sides of the cushions he sat upon. The room spun and he felt revolted and utterly entranced.

"He got a little too worked up. So, I stopped him."

A throaty chuckle broke free, he was unable to contain it. The image of her as an unassuming, soft kitten with very sharp claws rose in his mind, unbidden. His throat worked and he wrestled between feeling like murdering her himself and taking her into his arms to soothe away any hurt the foul ape may have done to her.

In a choked voice, he asked, "How the hell do you know ya didn't kill him?"

She pointed to her bicep. "Got him once in the arm. Boy, did he squeal. Then I blasted his temple with the hilt, to make him shut up," she said and Raph found himself nodding in approval before catching himself.

He dropped his face into his hands. He found with no surprise that they were clammy. He couldn't help it, he chuckled darkly once more. "Christ, KoKo." He gazed up at her with a wrinkled brow, "Your mother is gonna freak."

Her face darkened. "April isn't my mother."

He frowned. "Don't be disrespectful. Not after tonight. Not after all Don and April have done for your spoiled ass."

She stiffened and looked momentarily furious. Her eyes flashed and he was taken aback by the similarity even to his brother's eyes when angered. A rare sight, but one he'd never forget. It was too much to look at, it stirred too painful a memory, so he swept his gaze away. Only too late, the memory rose and engulfed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the long delay in getting this written. Fear not, my darlings, this shall be updated more frequently now that I, Alone has wrapped up. I thank you for your patience and commitment to my stories. This one will be interesting - at least, I hope so, lol
> 
> I would LOVE to hear all your thoughts on this! Your excitement in reading it makes me excited to write!


	4. Chapter 4

_'Serve God, love me, and mend_  
This is not the end.  
Lived unbruised, we are friends  
And I'm sorry -  
I'm sorry.

Sigh no more, no more.  
One foot in sea, one on shore.  
My heart was never pure.  
You know me -  
You know me." - Sigh No More,

Mumford and Sons

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Who We Bleed For**

* * *

"I told you to stand  _down_!" Leo shouted, voice rising and cracking at the last word.

Raph did not flinch back, even when the spittle struck him in the face. The truth was, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be capable of doing more than narrowing his eyes. The back of his head was propped against Donatello's heaving chest, slick with sweat and blood.

Leonardo spun, strode forward three steps and threw his swords to the ground. One soldier moved, reaching out between the broken bodies, reaching for a weapon or a communication device, he didn't know. Leo shot Mikey a look. With a grim expression, Mikey stood up, crossed the roof and deftly put the ninja's lights out with one swift twist of his wrist. The chucks slid back into place without the usual playful flourish or any commentary, sarcastic or light. He jogged past Leonardo and knelt next to Raph, still trying to get up despite Donatello being the one keeping him upright.

"Leo," Donatello's voice, soft, but firm, "we have to get him home."

Still not looking in their direction, he nodded, once, abruptly. As Mikey moved to gather Raph's legs, he kicked out uselessly.

"'M fine," he slurred. Then clearer, with more fury, "Said 'M  _fine_!" His jagged voice had Leonardo stooping to pick up his swords. Sheathing them he turned. Raphael fell still as their eyes met. His indignation and anger drained away as he read the fright and strained concern on his older brother's face. If he hadn't known better, it looked like Fearless was crying. His face was mottled and his eyes too bright, even in the darkness. Too bright. Full of accusations. Ones that Raph felt as though he'd spoken them.

_How could you scare me like this? I was here to protect you. Why didn't you let me?_

_"Fine,"_ he wheezed insistently once again as his legs finally gave out and Mikey looped them under his arms. The movement had his head spinning and the world tilted and turned an ugly shade of gray just before the intense cramp of agony blotted out his consciousness.

It was four days before he saw those eyes again. The fright was gone. Replaced with a quiet sort of disappointment, weariness and anger. A cocktail of poisonous emotions that Raphael had recently grown accustomed to.

"It was a trap," Raph rasped.

Not  _hello_. Not  _happy ta see me?_  as he was actually planning on asking the first minute he could talk to Leo again with any coherency. No. Because the anger that was sinking while he was under rose up again as soon as he laid his eyes on his brother. Because of her, Leo had gotten misinformation which led to them facing down forty Foot goons instead of a dozen as she had informed them.

Leonardo sat in the folding chair, elbows on his knees, fingers braced against one another. Slowly, he sat back and gave Raph a long look. There were dark circles under his eyes. The side of his jaw worked. Raphael could see he was struggling with what he wanted to say. He decided he didn't want to hear it. He waved one hand, the one attached to the arm with the IV sticking out of it, which he suddenly noticed with a pale grimace, dismissively at Leonardo.

"You're a fool," he muttered, no longer looking at Leonardo, though seeing him in the corner of his blood-shot eye.

Leonardo stiffened. "I don't want to argue with you."

"You're still a damn fool."

He dropped his head, looked to one side and shook it. "Karai –"

Raph bit out, "Don't. Not here. Don't say that bitch's name to me. Right now. She fed you a bunch of bullshit intel to get us cornered so she could have her men finish us off for Daddy Dearest," he had to wheeze out the last few words, killing some of his momentum and sting, but he went on, panting, "And you fell for it. Hook. Line. And Sinker. Damn fool."

His head spun and he felt nauseous. The biting words and the strength it used to spit them out left him feeling weak and shaky, but it was worth it. Leo had been smitten with the kunoichi since he'd first spotted her last year. Lately, the past six months or so, Raph had noticed that their late night runs had tapered off to him going out solo without even an invitation to Raphael to accompany him. The first time he decided to follow Leo and practice some stealth and surprise him, Raphael was the one who'd gotten the shock. A nasty one at that.

He'd come across several buildings, tracking Leo like a shadow, and it had seemed like his ninja skills were paying off big time. The guy had no idea he was being followed. Raph's footsteps were light and buoyed by the glee of besting his big brother for a change. He was just struggling with trying to come up with creative ways to rub it in Mr. Perfect's face when Leo took a sharp detour from their usual paths through the more deserted and less populated neighborhoods. Raph shifted gears and followed coming to a stuttering halt after a few jumps. He watched, stunned, as Leo landed atop an apartment building and scaled swiftly without missing a beat to a smaller, slightly higher offset space adjacent to it. It was covered with a lavish rooftop garden.

"What is he doin'?" Raph murmured to himself and crept closer, eying all directions for any signs of the property owners. Gardens this lush were not something left unattended for too long. The fact that Leo went inside the grounds left him confused but also dying to know why his brother would do such a risky thing.

Landing with the softest possible sound, Raph rolled to one side behind an enormous glazed vase. He looked around, waited a beat and ventured deeper. Peering all around, Raph was impressed by the intricacy of his surroundings. Ferns and plants with trailing vines spilled out of oversized containers. Pebbles lines the winding pathways between thick greenery punctuated with night flowering blooms of Nicotiana and Jasmine, spicing the air around him with a heady perfume. His skin prickled with a strange electricity. He'd gone into more than a few restricted places, both that Leo knew of and a few that he didn't, but he'd never felt this tingling anticipation before. This feeling that was at the same time exhilarating and smothering. It was as though he were an explorer in some uncharted region of a land that should have been familiar but for one single element being out of place making it surreal and foreign. Exotic.

He heard a noise and froze. Voices. He couldn't make them out, not the words exactly, but the sound of the speaker's voices. He was certain one belonged to his brother. The other was feminine and accented. Familiar though he couldn't place it. Not in this strange environment, at this bewitched juncture between a one-sided game played with his brother and mysterious destiny. His heart began to hammer and his throat closed up. Neither voice sounded hurried or upset. It made no sense. He felt a tendril of sweat worry its way down the back of his neck and trickle along the edge of his shoulder blade where it connected to his carapace. The only thing he knew with any clarity was that Leo was talking to someone. Curiosity drove him forward. The forbidden fruit of discovery lay just out of reach. He could not stop now, even had he wished to. He inched his way to the very edge of a wooden box planter overflowing with some lacy plant like a caterpillar creeping along a suspended twig. Using the tip of his finger, he parted a small space just large enough to peer through. His galloping heart jumped into his throat. It was fortunate, for it choked any sound of surprise that he might have otherwise made.

Leo was talking with Karai. Not just talking. By all appearances he was enjoying a conversation. A wide smile was plastered across his face. He was reclining on an L-shaped padded lounge, propped up on one elbow, surrounded by pillows with intricate embroidered designs of cherry blossoms. His mask remained on his face, but his swords, padding and belts were in a mound, as though casually thrown to one side. Raph eyed the heap with shocked disapproval. Leo never left his gear in a sloppy pile like that at the lair, he was always meticulously careful with his pads, belts and especially his swords.

Karai laughed where she sat on the edge of the padded seat next to Leonardo, barefoot and barely dressed. Raph's eyes snapped back to see her just as she brushed a tendril of glossy black hair behind one ear. She moved with feline grace to straddle Leonardo who had gone still and serious and Raph tensed.  _This was it_ , Raphael smiled grimly,  _Ah, it made sense, now!_  Leo was toying with her. Being slick and coy. Raph nearly sniggered in approval. He didn't think Leo had it in him. One hand went to his sai at his belt. His muscles coiled with ready anticipation. Leonardo would knock her away . . . a _ny second_. Raph waited for his cue to barge in and help, knowing that Leo could probably take her but willing to jump in as soon as he felt the moment was right.

But as the seconds ticked by and nothing like that happened, Raphael's stomach slowly sank as his eyes perceived what could not be happening. Leo made no sign of either distress or anger. He didn't move to hit her or block an attack. No. Instead, with glittering eyes staring with an intense focus at Karai's face, he eased back, surrendering himself to her as she slid over him. Parting his lips as her face came close to his. Her leg slipped around his brother's hip, pale and firm with athletically toned lines. She wore only a thin satin robe that ended at her milky white thigh. And as his brother's hands slowly slid the robe free to expose the equally smooth, curve of her shoulders Raph realized with cheeks burning, that she wore nothing beneath that robe. With a swift move, Leo peeled it from her and tossed it atop the gear he'd dropped without concern or care. Leo's hands bunched her hair and his mouth went to the side of her neck. Her responding moan, one filled with an anticipatory pleasure that Raphael only understood the very edges of, hit him and Raphael recoiled as if struck.

He fell onto his bottom, flailed about for a moment and nearly knocked a tall vase over just behind him. He fell still, pinched his eyes shut, but could not block out the impassioned groan his reserved and usually quiet brother made, forming the sound into a plea, a promise; rolling into a breathless moan of her name. The twined sounds of their shared sensual abandon floated on the air like a cloud, misting Raphael with confusion and envy.

He couldn't take any more. He crawled forward, terrified of alerting them to his presence while part of him wanted to go on a rampage and tear down the beautiful garden all around him. To leave this Eden in ruin as a result of his aching, sharp and sudden despair. He felt hot and cold. Dizzy. Ashamed of his intrusion on this private moment between Leo and his paramour yet furious with the sting of betrayal; weakened with the realization that this wasn't the first time he'd done this. He stumbled forward on his hands and knees and shook himself from the storm of emotions raging and leaving him in a fuzzy state of bewildered hurt.

He stood up and for some reason, some unfathomable slip of his unconscious desire, of needing to experience with Leo that taboo they'd simultaneously yearned for; together on even ground; as equals; wishing for full understanding yet never believing either would be granted such a wish; and so recently, only a few months ago was it when they'd shared that dream again, for the last time, without him knowing it would be their final time of sharing ignorance of the carnal, he turned; blinked slowly but gazed straight ahead and he saw. He drank in the scene. Absorbed it and was enveloped by it at once.

Karai's lithe body rising and falling, her hips rocking, grinding against his brother as if she wanted to meld her body into his; her head thrown back; fingers dragging down his chest; the side curve of her breast bouncing from the movement; Leonardo's hands gripping her; fingers kneading the firm thighs with frantic motion; his hips thrusting upwards; his face expressing some mysterious mix between anguish and joy. The rumbling growling churr rippling over his skin where he stood, feeling rather than hearing their combined expressions of voluptuous copulation.

Raph stood frozen, watching the sensual display, feeling his body burn in jealousy, in need, until he came back to himself and was hit with a self-conscious sickening shame. His eyes slammed shut and he turned away. Running this time without care for being seen, knocking through the planters, dragging his limbs from the groping branches, snapping twigs and tearing through clinging vines, crushing delicate blossoms into the pebbles below his stomping feet. Running away from the truth of his brother's solo excursions. From the truth of his recent distraction. From the noticeable disinterest in anything Raphael or any of them had to say. Vases tumbled to the ground. Glass ornaments shattered. A voice called to him but he ran from that, too. As fast as his legs could carry him.

When Leo caught up to him, crying out for him to wait; he still would not stop. Leo tackled him. They'd fallen forward, rocketing through dented garbage cans, spilling their contents into the alley near the entrance to the lair's passageway. A cat screamed and took off in the night. Raph twisted and fought against Leo, hollering nonsense and growling and accentuating his garbled cries with the filthiest cursing he could come up with. But Leo fought him back, wrestling with him with glassy eyes, huge with fear. The fear that brought Raphael's swinging fists to a halt. That stole away the next swear, killing it on his tongue before giving birth to it in the foul alley air. His fist fell to his side, impotent. Weakened and exhausted, finally, they lay, Leonardo sprawled on top of Raphael, both brothers battered, bruised and out of breath.

"Raph," Leo started and Raphael cut him off immediately.

"I'm telling," he snapped and was shocked at the words that had decided to come forth from his offended mind. They were edging close to eighteen. Grown men. Why he chose that particular phrase, that childhood mantra against all wrongs, he had no idea. He'd only meant it with all his heart. Knowing somehow, already, that nothing he could say would deter Leo from pursuing Karai. Not after what he'd seen. Not after Leo was able to do  _that_  with her. But there was one person that ruled Leo. One person that elicited complete obedience and deference from him.

"I'm telling father."

Leo's face fell. The look of hurt and betrayal mirrored the same that churned within Raphael's thundering heart. The spike of vindictive glee melted instantly as Leo turned his deep eyes, so full of sadness at him.

"Raph," he said softly, the name so full of hurt that Raph closed his eyes.

He moved off of Raphael and there was a moment where the vacancy of his brother's presence left him feeling empty. It ghosted away as he sat up. Raphael eyed Leo as he propped himself against the brick wall, lulling his head back until the top of it hit the surface. Raph turned his head and stared down the empty alleyway and silence fell between them.

"He'll make me stop seeing her," Leo said to the inky strip of sky sandwiched between the top most edges of the crumbling buildings that bordered the alley.

"Good," Raph spat.

Leo turned his head and not quite looking at Raph, he opened his mouth to say something then closed it, as if changing his mind. But then, glancing up, meeting Raphael's eyes, locking on them, head still down, he changed his mind again and whispered, "I love her."

Looking into Leonardo's eyes, seeing the truth behind the words, he realized with a start of irrational fright that if he told their father and Splinter forbade Leonardo from seeing her, there was a solid chance that his brother might leave. And he never hated Karai more than he did at that moment.

Leonardo's voice, tinged with that pleading note that only arose when Karai came up, broke through his recollection of that fateful night, a little less than six months ago.

"It wasn't a trap. She told me that there might be more soldiers coming. The shipment was a surprise windfall for the Foot Clan and –"

"Save it," Raph said, feeling breathless and oddly choked up. Those damn memories must have stirred some sentimental crap inside of him. Either that or it was the fact that he still hated Karai with everything in his shell and soul and his fucking brother saw her as a saint or something. He was tired of it. Tired of Leo defending her, of sneaking out to see her, of leaving him . . . them all behind.

"She wouldn't put any of you in danger. Not intentionally," he said in a low voice, leaning forward with a reassuring expression, almost a smile on his face as though Raph were a child misunderstanding some simple fact of life.

"Fuck that bitch!" Raph snapped, rising up and gripping the blanket with sweaty fists. Leo grimaced and said nothing. "You think she gives a damn about us?! You must be nuts, bro. Oh, or so fucking blinded by that whore's lies that you can't think straight. Maybe you've got your face shoved so deep in that cun–"

The forearm was at his throat cutting off his hateful speech and he found himself pinned back against the bed, flat on his shell. Leo's face was an inch away from his. His lip curled back in a feral expression of rage.

He growled, "Get this through your thick skull. If you'd have listened to my orders, you would not have gotten hurt. We would have gotten out of there with everyone intact."

Their eyes bounced between each others. Raphael squirmed, doing his best not to choke against the pressure at his throat. Leo wasn't wrong. Raph was fueled by the surety that Karai had in fact betrayed them into a trap which drove him into a berserker rage that only worked to his disadvantage. Mikey had gotten stabbed watching his raging ass and he ended up taking several bullets to his shoulder, leg and one that grazed his head. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten back to the lair.

Leo, still snarling, added through gritted teeth, "And don't -  _ever_  - insult her like that again." He stared for a minute longer, then eased back and straightened up, releasing his brother.

Raph scowled up at him. "Why?" he croaked. And unable to help himself, he added, "It ain't like the bitch is anything to you. Not really."  _Not like us . . . like me. Your family,_  he thought.

Leo turned away, shaking his head in disgust. Trembling with contained fury. He made to leave the infirmary and Raph's eyes noticed for the first time, the food containers and empty bottles of water stacked around the folding chair; two novels with dog-eared pages lay on the desk. He realized who they belonged to with a twist in his gut. Leo had not left his side. The mess could have been Donatello's or even Mikey's, but he knew. He knew the evidence all belonged to Leonardo who was ever at his side when he'd be recovering from some injury, large or small.

He looked at Leonardo's shell as he stepped away. Guilt lay its clammy hand upon Raph's heart. He opened his mouth to offer an apology, at least, for not listening out on the battle field. But Leonardo stopped mid-step and Raphael held his tongue as his older brother turned back to face Raphael. He reached up and felt around his neck with one finger. He hooked it on something and tugged until Raph made out that it was a thin chain around his brother's neck. With a little insistence, the necklace pulled upwards revealing what Leonardo wished to show Raphael.

It rose up from the space between his chest and plastron, catching the light and gleaming like the winking eye of death. A small golden ring.

"She is my wife."


	5. Crossing the Line

Raphael reared back as if he'd been struck, clenching his jaw and pinching his eyes closed. The pain those memories caused cut sharp and ugly through him like a serrated blade. " _Fuck_ ," he barked, jamming his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He grunted and stood up from the couch. One hand raised up towards her, palm out, then he pointed at her, "You know what?" he announced loudly. Not waiting for her response, he spun around on his heel.

KoKoa watched him warily. Her earlier defensive attitude about April not being her real mother dissolving under his sudden distress.

"I don't give a fuck. Not anymore. This," he gestured behind his back in general at her, she scowled but he didn't see her reaction, "ain't my business. I give up. I ain't no one to be tellin' nobody what to do. I ain't your dad. Your fuckin' dad is  _dead_ ," his voice broke roughly over the last word and KoKoa pressed her hand to the base of her throat, obviously shocked at this sudden outburst and emotion. Not looking at her, he made another strangled, choked sound; brushed his hands through the air, as though he were trying to shoo her away, and strode into the kitchen, all focus trained on the fridge, but then veered suddenly to one side, and dropped into a crouch. His knees popped.

"I'm done," he went on, speaking to the cabinets. "April ain't your Mom," he huffed, shaking his head, agreeing with her earlier statement. "No she certainly the fuck isn't." He laughed bitterly, "Your mom was a  _fuckin' selfish little cun-_ " He shot a sidelong glance at her over his shoulder and cut himself short. He coughed. "Don't matter. She's dead, too. Dragged the dumbass with her."

KoKoa ghosted toward his periphery, keeping just outside of his reach, wincing and jumping as he slammed open the low cabinet doors, searching wildly; pulling out cleaning supplies and cookie sheets, tossing them out from his sides in a clattering racket. Grumbling. Cursing. He stilled. He braced one bent arm against the front of the cabinet and twisted, reaching deep inside.

"Gotcha, bastard," he mumbled and pulled out a near-full bottle of Jack Daniels. "Nice try, Mikey." He sat back on his haunches and heels; twisted off the lid. He brought the bottle to his mouth and tipped his head back.

KoKoa watched with growing awe as he swallowed the amber liquid down, gulp after massive gulp; spilling not a drop. Her face flushed.

"Damn," she whispered and ran her palms over the top of her bare head to the back, hooking her fingers on the back of her neck. Her eyes were glassy and she bobbed one knee in irritation.

"What is your problem?"

He leaned against the open cabinet. It creaked and the wood groaned beneath his weight. He wiped his lip and grimaced, then took another shorter swig. Felt the hard alcohol tightening the backs of his eyes. Burning away the last of the images of Leonardo and Karai. Of them on that rooftop terrace, in the darkening garden, their bodies joined in mutual carnal need and release, locking him away from his brother, his friend, forever. His brother racing ahead of him. Too far. He could never catch up now. He'd fallen behind. It wasn't his fault. He had tried. He had tried to be the best he could be for Leo. It just . . . wasn't ever going to be enough. Not compared to her.

He felt his eyes sting. He drank more. Tipping the bottle back. Higher. And dropping it again, between his legs.

It didn't matter. It was ancient history. And yet it remained to haunt him, to torment him. Like his brother pushing him to his limits, in everything. Always. Sharpening Raph's skills so he could keep up. Bringing him to the breaking point time and again. Too close to torment, but always followed by the sweet rush of joy with Leonardo's approval; his praise. Riding the high of his smile, his slight nod, a pat on the shoulder. The only one who got him. The only one who loved him like he needed.

Raph made a choked sound.  _Christ_. He blinked furiously. When would he be free? Or maybe he'd been damned all along. Right from the start. Maybe he and Leo were spiritually conjoined twins, like Yin/Yang; one light the other dark. Twined and circling. One stands in shadow so the other can shine. The dark too cold but the light too bright. Hurting his eyes. But he couldn't stop staring. He could never stop.

He hung his elbow on one bent knee and held the bottle by the neck, swinging it slightly. Watching the play of shadow and light gleam and slip over the curved mouth. KoKoa made a soft sigh as she settled her arms to cross herself, waiting on his answer. Patiently, unlike her mother. More like him.

Raph huffed and smiled wryly. He raised his eyes to her and they were bright and somber. Full of sorrow and something else . . . hunger. In answer to her question, he merely pointed at her. Said nothing.

"Me?" Her brows raised. She twisted and looked around. When she faced him again the cunning glint was in her gaze. All fear, all nervousness vanished.

Raphael eyed her warily and took another drink, finding his voice. It was thick with drink, "'S right." His words slurred as his head took the momentary tightness to a painful level before smoothing out into one long fuzzy blur. The pressure eased in his chest. The memory of his brother smeared away into the background with all the things unimportant to him. Better. Much better.

"Go away ghosts," he mumbled and made a shooing motion with one finger. "Leave me be."

KoKoa crossed the room. Padding across the floor. She crouched in front of him. He blinked and frowned, wondering why she pestered him. Was it all just a game? Like the guy in the alley? Was he something to toy with? Experiment on?

She tipped her head to one side. "But I just want to have some fun, is all."

"All just a game to you, huh?" Raph asked, ignoring the hurt and wallowing in the self-deprecating vindictive glee of knowing he called it. She wanted only to play with him. He was nothing to her. That was fine. That was great, in fact. If she wanted to play with him, he was game, he decided then. To hell with everything.

She suddenly reached out, and deftly removed the bottle from his numb fingers and hand and quickly took a drink before he could swipe it back.

"Don't."

Too late. Her cheeks puffed out, filling with the fiery liquid and she swallowed before he could stop her. She pinched her eyes closed, coughed and sputtered and finally started to laugh between gasps. Her eyes watered as she pushed the back of her hand into her bottom lip and chin.

"Holy shit," she giggled and coughed more, sitting to one side on her folded legs, situated between his legs, partially leaning against his inner thigh.

Raphael started to chuckle. "Nice job."

She coughed more and handed him back the bottle. "How the hell did you drink all that? You didn't even choke."

"Years of practice."

She giggled as though he'd just said the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She rested a hand upon his thigh. He tensed, flexing the muscle involuntarily. She licked her lips. He watched the pink of her tongue and felt his mouth go dry.

 _I'm nothing to her_ , he thought.  _She don't know me. If she did, really did, she wouldn't be here. The only one who puts up with my shit is Mikey. And only 'cuz he has to. 'Cuz Don told him to watch me._

They fell silent and his eyes roved over her face, taking in her beauty, sense of propriety numbed and gagged, tied up and secured away with the rest of his inhibitions. Her eyes were locked on his body, gazing at him, trailing down the lines of him to linger without shame at his groin. The heat suffused his body, starting from where she leaned against him and up through his groin, stomach; radiating up into his shoulders, down his arms, into his tingling fingers. He reached up then and with the side of his finger, traced her cheek, along her jaw, to tip her chin with a rough tap.

"What 're you doin' ta me, KoKo?"

She smiled and grabbed his wrist. She brought his hand to her cheek again, making him cup it, still holding onto his wrist with two small hands. Her eyes raised to his from beneath heavy lids. Blue and deep and real. Leo. Alive.

"Why don't you show me."

His breath hitched. Lust spiked through him. His hand swept to the back of her head and he dragged her forward, dropping the bottle to reach with his free hand to the small of her back to press her into him. Wrapping his thick arms firmly around her as he crushed his mouth into hers; sliding his tongue past the swell of her pouting lips into her mouth, plundering it. He felt her breasts through the flimsy fabric of her top molding into his plastron. Felt the heat of her body rushing to fill of the cavernous void that was his own. Filling it with fire, igniting what embers remained of what was once his fiery soul.

He'd crossed the line. There was no going back. And he didn't care. It made no difference. He knew.

He'd always been damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the next chapter will be explicit.


	6. Deluge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heavy sexual content below. And a reminder that I intend to walk razor sharp lines between fervent adoration and self-damnation here. While I have in mind what I am trying to say, I leave further interpretation up to my dear readers. And thus, I purposely am aiming for some ambiguity throughout this dark and twisting tale. Thank you for bearing with me. Thank you for coming along this journey with me, wherever it may lead us.

**Chapter 6 - Deluge**

With legs that shook, he climbed to stand, keeping her flush against his body.  He stumbled forward, clumsy from the alcohol and his thrumming, blind lust; slamming her back against the counter.  She gasped in surprise and some pain between his lips, into his mouth.  Her breath now his.  He sucked it into himself, absorbed it, swallowed it; wanting more. 

He reached down, cupped her ass, lifting her from her feet and propping her upon the very edge of the counter.  Her legs went around his shell.  Her heels pressed his hips forward.  His jeans pulled tautly as his erection strained.  He ground into her and she trembled at the promise of his hidden thickness, shivered in anticipation of seeing him, finally; of feeling that which she hungered for.  Growling and kissing her harder, Raph pushed until her head fell back breaking their mouths apart.  His lips instantly migrated to the side of her long neck.  Nipping, sucking, grazing with his fangs and lapping at her delicate flesh. 

She tasted of lost treasures recovered; of yearning taboo and ever withheld; of promises broken; sweet and sharp and heady.

She squirmed and shuddered in his grasp.  Every move she made, however innocuous, drove him deeper into the madness of his passion.  Thick fingers mauled her back, yanking on her top until it pulled painfully under her arms and at the base of her throat.  Tearing the flimsy fabric at the seams until she braced her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him back. 

“Easy, cowboy,” she panted.

Her voice wavered, out of breath, upon the top of his head as he continued to suck and nibble lower.  Filling his mouth with her flesh, gnawing at her and making her squeal.  Leaving deep rose-colored blotches behind, marking his mouth’s journey from the side of her neck and lower.  His cock pressed uncomfortably into the crotch of his pants.  The jeans needed to go, but first her clothes were in the way.  His biceps bunched and he tore the shirt from her; in one long ripping sound; tossing the material to the floor.  She gasped as he found one breast and covered it with his mouth, working his hot tongue over the dark mauve of her pert nipple. 

She pounded on the back of his head, gasped, “Why’d you do that!” 

He paused and pulled back, chest heaving.  His head bobbed and swayed as the room behind her spun first in one direction and then tipped the opposite way.  He grabbed one of her thighs to keep himself upright.

Her face flushed, she narrowed her eyes, her chest rose and fell and he found his gaze drifting down to watch her bare breasts, feeling the ache of his hardened body.  She blinked and made a soft noise to get his attention; his eyes once again met hers.

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” she complained with a pouting bottom lip.

He started to back away from her, momentarily brought to Earth.  Reality swung a wrecking ball into his bridge towards ecstasy.   And it bore Donatello’s face.  His head spun and he frowned. 

 _What am I doin’?_  

He moved unsteadily to back away from her, but her thighs pinched tighter around him.  Keeping him in place.  His stomach churned.  His throbbing cock twitched. 

Her eyes watched him with growing unease.  A frown puckered between her wide blue eyes.  And for a moment her face lost the angular lines and smoothed to the fuller features of his lost brother.  Leo stared back at him and he reeled. 

“No,” he choked, wide-eyed. 

He hiccupped and brought the back of his hand to his mouth.  He turned his face away and squinted, trying to make the fuzzy image go back to normal.  Leo wasn’t here.  Leo was dead.  Gone.  Forever.  No matter how much it still hurt.  No matter how badly he wanted his brother back.  This was his daughter.  The vision blurred, but remained an amalgam of his lost sibling and the woman he lusted after. 

He lurched back.  Eyes rolling. He felt vaguely as though he might vomit.  “Oh god,” he mumbled and shook himself.

“Hey, don’t stop.  I didn’t mean I wanted you to stop.  Hey,” she said, concern lacing her tone; reaching for him.  “Hey, look at me.  Why do you look like that?”

And hooking his shoulder with her fingers, she slowly eased him back towards herself.  He shuddered and pinched his eyes closed.  Not wanting to see this vision, not now.  Not ever.  Her lips parted and he did not stop himself.  He felt the waves crashing around him.  Felt the churning within rise; invading his mind.  A whimper broke from between his lips.  His eyes watered, brimming over and leaking twin thin streams down the sides of his face. 

_What am I doing?  Help me.  Leo.  Don’t let me fall.  Brother.  Catch me._

She murmured between placing tiny kisses along his mouth, “Relax.  Hey, it’s okay.  C’mon.  Don’t stop.”

His silent prayers for help went unanswered.  He descended.  Down and down further.  Each kiss a slip lower into the vortex claiming his soul.  Onii-san would not save him.  Could not.  There was no one here but this remnant of someone so great and terrible, beautiful and distant.  A star consumed long ago by its own light and heat.  And still Raphael reached for that illusion.  That ethereal presence.  Reached and strained to hold tight to what remained of what he once loved too dearly.  A love that had nearly destroyed him.

His kissing turned gentler, hesitant, but steadily increasing in urgency.  He gripped the sides of her face and ground into her with a sudden eruption of heated passion renewed.

Their kiss broke and she gasped, “Oh god, yes.  Why didn’t you do this to me sooner?  Didn’t you know I’ve wanted you since I was little?” she teased.

“Shut up,” he rumbled beneath her chin, rising up to kiss her again.  To keep her mouth shut.  To keep her from reminding him what he was doing and just who she was to him.  To keep the sickness at bay.  To defy the long loneliness that had taken up residence in his aching heart.  The morose acceptance that he’d never be with anyone.  Ever.  But her voice wasn’t completely unwelcome.  It both grounded him and rocked him.  Reminded him that this wasn’t a dream.  Or a nightmare.  The real world spun around them. 

But she ducked and brought her mouth to the side of his neck and bit down, hard.  He jumped.  Shuddered hard.  Groaned and drove his groin forward into her.  She immediately started sucking on the spot she kissed, just as roughly.  Raph’s body went rigid and he hissed as fierce arousal spiked through him.  His cock bucked. Nearly coming in his jeans.  He felt her small hot tongue before she pulled back a little and blew on his skin.

“How’d you like that, huh, Raphie?” she murmured into his neck, brushing her lips against him.  “Wait ‘til I suck on your-“

“ _Haah_ , Christ,” he moaned as the childhood nickname struck home in the worst possible way.  He pulled back out of the grasp of her arms and legs.  He stumbled sideways.  One shaking hand covered his eyes.  The other rose up to keep her still.  _“Oh, fuck!”_ he cried in a broken voice.  Head down, body twisted slightly away from her, he panted. 

What was he doing?  What the hell was he thinking?  Donnie was going to skin him alive.  What would he say to April?  She would never forgive this.  And to Mikey?  They hardly wanted him around before.  When they find out about this, they’d disown him for good.  And he wouldn’t blame them.  He was sick.  And he started to realize that maybe he’d been sick for a long, long time.  Maybe from the start. 

He risked a glance in her direction.  Looked her square in the eye and faced the truth.  He couldn’t do this and remain whole.  What was left of him, anyway.  The broken pieces would shatter.  She had to understand – she had to.

She shot him a hurt look and brought her palms up.  Reaching out for him. His heart stumbled.  His stomach roiled and his erection thrummed and strained in its confinement.  He coughed, shook his head.

“KoKo,” he breathed and his face pinched.  He rubbed his face hard.  He choked and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.  Then he dropped his arms and stared at her.  Looking lost and tormented.  He tried to explain.  “This . . . this ain’t right.  For . . . a lot of reasons.  I . . . I can’t,” he huffed out the word, suddenly feeling as though he were having a heart attack.  His chest constricted painfully. 

She shook her head and bit the corner of her lip.  Pouting as she thrust out her breasts to cross her arms just under them.  The ridges of raised flesh that made up the portions of her semi-formed plastron crinkled.  They formed a pattern resembling butterfly wings over her breasts, separated by a small heart-shaped piece just between them.  Her nipples were mauve, the left one slightly darker from his earlier attentions; both were rigid from her arousal and the cooler air of the room.

God help him, she was beautiful.  Just staring at her, sitting there like that would be enough to make him come.  He groaned.

And with a graceful leap, she slid off the counter and padded up to him.  He stood helplessly before her, hands slightly outstretched as if afraid to touch her, swaying from side to side a bit from the hard liquor still swimming through his veins.   His eyes popped as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and slid it off, kicking it aside.  Eyelids fluttering, he took in the lacy thong, the garter with the switchblade.  As if just remembering it herself, she slipped the garter off along with the blade and tossed it aside.  Then, reaching up, standing on tip-toe, she took the sides of his face and brought him down.  Her lips lingered just before his own and then moving her head side to side, she brushed her bottom lip against his.

“I don’t care,” she breathed. 

His eyes closed and he drank in her words.  She doesn’t care.  Maybe not.  But it wasn’t fair.  She knew exactly what she was doing to him.  Had all along.  Draping herself over him every chance she got whether she was in front of her adopted parents or not, not caring about how it made his brothers look at him. 

Not caring that her father had been his . . . his . . . that he’d been everything to Raph.

_I’m nothin’ to her.  Nothin’.  Nothin’ matters.  Leo is dead.  April will hate me.  So will Mikey.  Don will kill me.  I’d deserve it.  Maybe I’d see him again on the way down.  Just a glimpse before I’m tumbled into hell._

Her soft voice, lush and husky brought him out of his head. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about this.  I won’t let them stop me from getting what I want.”

“KoKo,” he tried again, pleading, knowing he was too close to the brink, afraid of what waited for him in the center of the pit.  He was old enough to be her father.  He was her uncle.  Leo would be turning in his grave if he knew about this.  He had to control himself.  He had to make her understand what was at stake here.  He took a shuddering breath, his words slurred the harder he tried to make sense, “It’s more complicated than that.  Don will freak.  And April.”

She stroked the sides of his face.  Gazed steadily at him, smiling with wicked delight, eyes alight with a fiery desire and a need that he understood all too well.  His throat worked as he stared back into her gaze. 

“But-but also . . . KoKo . . . you-you look so much . . . like . . . ”

Her lips pressed against his again, feather-light and gentle, but beyond that the tops of her teeth grazed his lip, nipping him; silencing whatever else he was about to say.  Her bare flesh pressed against his chest.  His body contracted from her touch.  His mind scattered.  Nothing mattered.

“I want you,” she said between soft gasps, pulling away slightly.  “And I know you want me.”

She ran her hands up and down the front of his plastron, drifting her fingertips lower to stroke the rounded bulge that marked his masculinity straining for freedom; the spot slightly wet from the pre-cum as she took her fingertips away.  He groaned; hips moving forward involuntarily.  He pinched his eyes tight.  Shook his head, but she stopped the motion with her hands. 

“I want you,” she repeated.  “Raphael.  Only you.”  She gave him a coy look and bit the corner of her mouth again.  Raphael’s eyes roved over her face only to go back and lock on her heavily-lidded eyes as she asked in a sultry, sly, hushed voice, “Be my first?”

He made a desperate noise.  Her eyes . . . his eyes . . . her eyes drowned him.  Her plea overpowered him.  His control bled through his fingers.  His mind blanked.  With a rumbling growl, he stooped and swept her off her feet. 

Her breath hitched as she threw back her head.  He shifted and she righted herself, casting a smoldering gaze into him that reduced any remaining trepidation or doubt about what he was doing to ash.  His desire consumed him as he gazed back into the depth of those eyes.  Beyond the steady familiarity there, a sharper edge of desire fired the sapphire blue into a flare.  One so bright and real that his breath caught in his throat.

Sick or not.  He knew what he wanted.

His heart thumped as he crossed the space to his bedroom.  He kicked open the door.  It crashed into the wall.  He dropped her onto his mattress and loomed over her, braced on one knee and his fist.  The springs creaked and moaned beneath her as she writhed atop the worn blankets.  Smiling up at him.  Eyes glittering with hunger.  For him.  Only him.

 _Yes_. 

He brought his mouth into hers again, forcibly.  Rough and growling as her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer as her hips rolled up and dragged across the straining bulk of his masculinity; making him groan and rumble deeper until with jerking movements, he undid his jeans and kicked them off.  He grunted as the air hit him; emerging fully; hard and engorged; throbbing.  Aching. She trembled beneath him as he positioned his bulky tip against her slick opening.  Her breath hitched and she gripped his forearms tightly, bracing herself. 

Their eyes locked.  His need surged painful and so sharp he gasped. 

Unable to hold back, he ground forward, into her, as far as he could and then some as she cried out.  He pulled back, shuddering and with a groan, shoved deeply back into the hot depths between her legs.  She cried out again, louder, raking her nails down the sides of his arms.  A ragged burst of sharp pleasure and primal distress.  He began thrusting in a building rhythm, steadily, relentlessly, not slowing down, grinding into her and leaving her helpless against the force of his lust.  The bed creaked and hit the bricks with each powerful thrust.  KoKo legs jumped and she managed to lift them and hook them behind his shell as she had done in the kitchen earlier.  Her arms went around his neck and he pressed himself into and onto her.  Groaning and grunting, lost in the moment of lust and heat and carnal freedom.

And lost in the madness of his surrender, the darkest memory crept from the hidden depths of his shameful mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Moby's atmospheric song: Lie Down in Darkness has lead me through this chapter. It gives me so many plot bunnies I just can barely take it, lol
> 
> The following chapter will continue to include sexual content as well as possibly disturbing content to some. I wish to merely portray certain things with absolute honesty and clarity. However ugly or vile or lovely or misunderstood.
> 
> I advise caution with reading further if you are sensitive.


	7. Breaking the Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accusation of something terrible nearly destroys the brothers.

_'And I sat in regret of all the things I've done;_

_For all that I've blessed, and all that I've wronged._

_In dreams until my death, I will wander on.' -_ Audioslave _, Like a Stone_

* * *

Mikey carried the checkerboard tucked under one arm, the sack of mismatched pieces clutched in his sweaty hand, he slid open the rice paper door to his father's room. He smiled widely when he spotted Master Splinter seated in the center of the room on his tatami mat. Several candles lit the gloom with sputtering white-gold flames. Mikey padded over, tipping his head and raising his brows as he examined his father's placid face. He chewed his bottom lip and then knelt down. He unfolded the checkerboard and spilled the pieces out over it. A matchbox car rolled off the mat and gently struck Splinter's foot. Mikey's eyes shot up just as Splinter's opened. Under heavy lids, he stared at his youngest child. He sighed deeply through his nose.

"Will you play with me?"

"Michelangelo," he picked up the toy car and handed it to his son who took it in two hands and carefully set it next to a chess piece. "I am meditating. I have told you many times not to disturb me. This is my private time for self-reflection and finding balance."

Mikey blinked and ducked his head. "I'm sorry, Master," his round eyes shifted around the room and he picked at a frayed spot on the board's edge, "but no one else would play with me."

"Did you ask Donatello?"

Mikey nodded. "He said he's busy working on the, um, gas thingy."

Splinter stiffened. "What?"

"The gas thingy, uh," Mikey rubbed his mouth with his fingers as he tried to remember, "behind the new stove."

Splinter jumped to his feet. He wheeled around and dashed from the room, Mikey scurrying just behind.

"Donatello," Splinter snapped as he entered the kitchen area. His sensitive nose picking up the strong scent of gas, making his ears flatten and eyes bulge.

Donatello emerged from the area behind the stove where he had pulled it from the wall, covered in grease spots and holding a pair of wire-clippers in one hand. "Y-Yes, Splinter?"

"What are you doing back there? Haven't I told you that you are not allowed to tinker with something as dangerous as the gas line?"

He sputtered, "But-But . . . I know what I'm doing."

"One mistake could harm all of us. Get out from behind there, now!"

Donatello hesitated.

"Did you not hear me?"

His chin jutted slightly to one side in a look of mild defiance. "I just need to adjust the valve and our stove will work much more efficiently. If you'd just give me a second. I can do this."

Furious, Splinter marched to the side of the stove and grabbed Donatello by the upper arm. He heaved his son from behind the appliance and shoved him out of the way. The wire clippers flew from his hand and clattered across the floor. He rubbed his arm and glared at Mikey who stood by looking guilty and morose.

"Thanks a lot, snitch," he hissed to his brother.

Mikey looked everywhere but at him. "I didn't mean t-to tell on you."

"Yeah, right," he bit out sarcastically.

"I didn't!" Mikey said, eyes going glassy with indignant tears.

Splinter crouched and examined what he'd been doing. His sensitive nose picking up more of the cloying scent behind the stove, making him choke. He searched through the rusted toolbox sitting on the floor and found a roll of duct-tape. He began winding the tape around the place where he was certain the leak was seeping through. Under his breath he uttered a stream of cursing in Japanese. Thinking that every time he turned his back his children were trying to get themselves killed. When he was done, he closed the lid of the toolbox with a decisive snap. He closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten, trying to calm himself. He straightened and handed the box to his son.

"I have been most clear in the past, Donatello."

Donatello's head lowered between his shoulders.

"No fire. No gas. Nothing explosive. No poisons. And what do I find?"

Donatello kept still, his chest rising and falling above the toolbox that he clutched as a shield between he and his angered father.

"Do you even understand how very dangerous . . ."

"I know," Donnie insisted then at the look on his father's face, he slapped his mouth closed.

"I do not need to explain myself again. I will not. I expect you to obey my simple rules." He pointed. "To the dojo, now. Twenty laps, then plank position using the board."

He gave Splinter a stiff bow over his toolbox and hurried to carry out his punishment.

Splinter covered his eyes and then turned to replace the stove against the wall. Before he did, he decided it would be wise to look over the wiring and pipes just in case. It had been many years since he'd first set up the kitchen area for his little family. When he tapped into the buried municipal lines between their home and the world above. He pulled the appliance out a bit further and looked over his shoulder. He noticed Mikey still lingering. Would he have no peace this morning?

"My son, go find Raphael or Leonardo to play with."

"I can't."

"Oh?"

"They have the door closed," Mikey said and pointed. "That means no Mikey's," he recited as from memory.

Splinter frowned.

# # #

Raphael's hand was sweating as he flipped the page. His breath was tight and hot in his throat. His mouth dry. He felt light-headed and giddy. The magazine was like something magical making him feel so many things just by looking at the pictures. He swallowed dryly as Leo shifted and sniggered softly and pointed at a woman wearing a police officer uniform, only it was not like any that Raph had ever seen, there were large pieces of the material removed revealing mounds of smooth flesh; between her legs the baton was carefully positioned just beneath a line of dark hair. He started at the sound of his brother's snigger, and forced a chuckle through his lips, weak and nervous. The sound of his heart was loud in his ears and he couldn't stop staring at the place where the woman's body met the end of the baton.

Leo glanced at him then back to the pictures. "If you like that one, wait til you see this." He shifted from laying on his stomach to sit up on his knees, crouched over his thighs, and quickly flipped the pages.

The spell was broken and Raphael blinked rapidly, somewhat relieved and disappointed. His voice was rough as he asked, "Aren't you scared Master Splinter's gonna find these?" He motioned to the two other magazines partially hidden beneath a mat under his brother's bed.

Leo gave him a half-shrug. "Nah, I keep my side of the room clean, so he never checks. I'm super careful. I've had these for a long time," he bragged and then smiling widely, with brows raised, held up a centerfold. A dark-eyed woman with slender limbs gazed out at him. Her pale flesh was laid across a bed of crimson silk. Her long black hair splayed over a pillow and her dark eyes were filled with need where they peered out from beneath a thick fringe of bangs. She was beautiful and her exposed breasts caught his eye, but Raph had his own favorite. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and then reached one finger out to pin the corner of the other magazine to the floor as he slid it towards himself.

Earlier, when Raphael found Leonardo half-under his bed on his stomach, his leg kicking back and forth in a languid motion while his hips wiggled in a strange way, he thought Leo was stuck somehow. When he tapped on his brother's shell, Leo had jumped, and looked scared half-to-death for a second before Leo had realized it was just him. That's when he slid out from under the bed and showed him what he was looking at.

Raph never dreamed that his older brother would have brought any of the more alluring and strictly forbidden treasures from their scavenging the tunnels home. Leo whispered to him that it had to be a secret or Master Splinter would never get over it. Splinter did not allow anything immoral inside their lair. The last time there was a movie on where the lady took off her shirt, Splinter unplugged the television and would not let them watch for two weeks afterwards. Questions on anything close to the subject of sex were frowned upon and instead of answers, extra chores were handed out to help keep minds' focused and clear of distractions.

Leonardo was risking a lot by defying their father's most rigid rules on such a taboo subject. He felt a mix of nervousness and culpability just looking at the magazine in his brother's hand, glancing quickly between Leo, the magazine and the door to their room. The lair was quiet this time of day with Master Splinter taking his meditation break and the other two brothers off playing quietly somewhere. By increments, the initial shock at his brother breaking the rules was replaced by the thrill that Leo was sharing something so very private with him. It made him feel older and respected. Leo was offering him a chance that he couldn't pass up, no matter what the risks. And the danger was what made it especially exciting. He vowed to keep it a secret. Forever.

"'Cuz I'd be dead meat if Splinter found out," Leo had warned with wide eyes and more than a little fear in his voice.

Raphael had crossed his heart. "Swear to god I'll never tell anyone."

Raphael brought the magazine out and held it on his lap, turning to the page he'd seen earlier to show Leo what he thought was extra special. He'd seen things like this before, on television and on the occasional water-damaged magazine that made its way down in the tunnels near their home, but never up close like this, where he could take his time and consider the compelling photographs. The way the women were spread out over the floor, or the blankets or covered in foaming suds; their curving flesh shining and slick. It made him feel weird and good and bad all at once, but mostly, between his legs, he felt uncomfortable and swollen, almost as though he had to pee, but he didn't. He held up a picture of a woman with bright red hair, her breasts spilling over the back of a chair, a tightly laced red corset barely keeping them reigned in, her legs covered in black fishnet and splayed.

Leo nodded in appreciation. "Nice," he breathed, pupils sharp and focused. But he turned back to his dark-haired beauty. He sighed. "I like her better."

"So, what do you, uh, do with these?"

Leo blinked as though he wasn't sure he understood the question. He gave Raph a sidelong glance. He laughed. "Well," Leo's voice cracked as it so often did lately, "I look at them." Raph chuckled as Leo knocked into his shoulder with his elbow.

"No shit," he said boldly and waited for Leo's chastisement for the swear, but it never came. Raph laughed a little harder, relieved and filled with a new deeper feeling of comradery with his older brother. They were separated by less than two years, Leo at thirteen and Raph nearing twelve, but in this moment, he felt as though there were no differences between them, as though Leo looked at him as an equal.

"They're beautiful," he sighed as his eyes roved over the image before him.

Raph nodded mutely in agreement.

Leo coughed, his faced switched to an almost embarrassed expression. "And, uh, sometimes you just gotta take care of things. And looking at these pictures helps."

Raph nodded having no idea what Leo was talking about. Leo seemed to realize this. His mouth broke out into an uneasy grin as it jumped from a smile to a serious expression as though it couldn't make up its mind if this was a joke or a somber occasion. "Raph, haven't you ever . . . you know, erm, touched it?" His eyes shot to Raph's lap and then off to one side as he waited for his brother's response.

Raph blinked and felt his face begin to heat. An idea was taking shape. "I dunno," he replied and stared at the woman on his tingling lap.

The swelling feeling grew and he shifted on his bottom. Sometimes, and most recently it happened more and more often, he'd wake in the early morning hours to find his body exposed and rigid with a strained ache that took forever for it to go away. He thought it had only happened to him and part of him was afraid there was something wrong with him. Since it had only occurred a few nights, he had decided to pretend that it never happened.

Leo raised his brows. "Well, sometimes you just can't help it," Leo said matter-of-factly.

And Raph watched him carefully, thinking that maybe he should have talked about what has happening to him with his brother, who seemed to always understand everything strange and awkward and make it better, somehow. Less scary. Normal.

Quietly Leo added, "And it feels good, too. Like nothing else."

Raph didn't look at him, feeling his face heat at what his brother just admitted, but stared at the woman on the chair. He wanted to know what Leonardo was talking about. To be on equal ground. If his brother wasn't ashamed or afraid, he wouldn't be, either. He looked into his brother's eyes and saw only understanding and encouragement. A feeling of heat swept through him. He closed the magazine and swallowed loudly as his cock firmed and pressed towards exposure. He covered himself with the magazine and looked at Leo with a shocked expression.

Leo took one look at his brother's face and waved his embarrassment away. "It's okay, Raph," he said and his voice cracked again. "Do what you need to do." He glanced around. "Master Splinter's meditating and Mikey and Donnie are busy." He looked back at Raph. "Just, uh, go over there, behind the bed." He made a slightly disgusted face, "But I don't want to see you, uh, doing it."

Raph nodded and stood up on shaking legs. The pressure between his legs was mounting. He squirmed with the effort of keeping the pressing member hidden. Leo sniggered and quickly apologized at Raphael's momentary look of hurt. Raph walked awkwardly around his brother. He positioned himself in the privacy the space between the bed and the corner of the wall gave him. He glanced at Leo who was looking at his magazine again, cheeks braced on two fists. He closed his eyes and with a shudder, emerged. He stared down at the swollen, slightly slick member and licked his lips. His eyes went to the red-head and the plump breasts, but he wasn't sure what to do from there. He felt uncomfortable and hot and cold. He fidgeted where he sat feeling full and hard and unsure.

Leo glanced up after a while. "Done yet?"

Raph peered over the side of the bed at him, only his eyes showing. He shook his head.

"Have you really not done this before?"

Raph hesitated and shook his head again, looking miserable and afraid. The last thing he wanted was to show Leo just what a baby he was, how very different they were, after all. Not equals. The disappointment choked him and horrified, he felt his eyes start to burn. If Leo ever had an opportunity to destroy him, it would be now. He braced himself to be mocked. Scorned and chased from the room.

Leo pressed his mouth in a line. He thought about it and said gently, "It's okay, Raph. I'm not looking and no one has to know. Just . . . relax."

"I-I don't know what to do . . ." Raph admitted in a tight voice, hating the wussy sound of it. Wishing that he never spoke up in the first place.

In a gentle voice Leo told him, "Look at the pictures and . . . stroke it . . . softly, okay?" As an afterthought he added, "Don't yank on it or you could hurt yourself. When you're done, I have a box of tissues under the bed."

He wondered why he'd need tissues. Was he going to cry? He hoped not. Whatever this was, he didn't want to make a fool of himself. But trusting that Leo was not setting him up for some trap of humiliation, he proceeded.

With a shaking hand, he reached down and brought his fingertips to caress over and around the shaft. He shivered as it twitched. He did it again, feeling the ripples of pleasure wash through him. Distantly, he heard his brother flip the page, then the room grew quiet and there was only the sound of his breathing, shallow and fast as his hand explored his body and the feelings that accompanied it. He closed his eyes as his fingers wrapped around himself and he began to pump. His breath came faster as a coil of intense pressure and pleasure built in his loins. He panted and pumped faster, suddenly seeing the red-haired woman in front of him, her breasts spilling out, her hand on him. He smiled in wonder but then there was a sharp jolt of painful pleasure that made him gasp. His mouth dropped open and his face scrunched into a tight knot of concentration.

"Uh, oh!  _UGH!_ " His voice raised and broke as a vibration erupted out from the back of his throat, rising from his chest, in time with the sharp contractions between his legs. The rumbling sound filled his entire body as it jumped and shuddered. Vaguely, he heard Leo shush him, saying that he was being too loud, but he couldn't help it. The quake eased back, leaving him trembling and spent and slightly sick to his stomach. His hand was wet as he uncurled his fingers, blinking and gasping.

A sharp rapping at the door was followed immediately by it slamming open. Leo leapt up from where he knelt with a shout of surprise. He chucked the magazine under his bed as Master Splinter stormed into the room. He scrambled backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he tumbled onto it. His father's eyes were blazing as they snapped from a frightened Leonardo to a slightly dazed Raphael.

"Dojo!" Splinter barked and Leo scrambled around him and dashed out of the room as fast as he could.

Raphael fumbled to stand on shaking legs. He kicked the magazine under the bed, but not fast enough. Splinter spied it and his face darkened. Raphael rubbed his hand against his stomach, trying to wipe it clean. Splinter's eyes flashed as he took in the sticky gleam of Raphael's hand and stomach. His sensitive nose picking up the musky scent filling the air, turning his stomach. His jaw jumped as he clenched it. He pointed at the bed. In a voice that quivered with fury, he ordered, "Give that to me."

With trembling limbs, and fumbling fingers, Raphael stooped and retrieved the magazines, not daring to trifle with his father with trying to plead for mercy or understanding. He stretched and gathered the other two. He handed them over and cringed as the paper stuck to his tacky hand.

Splinter glanced over the front of the magazines and shook in rage. He snapped, "Go wash yourself! Then to the dojo!"

Raphael fled from the room, pushing past Michelangelo standing in the doorway. Splinter wheeled around to face Mikey who stood wringing his hands and nibbling at his bottom lip.

"How long has this been happening?" Splinter asked him as he loomed over him.

Sensing his father's fury, Mikey shrank back and whimpered.

"Michelangelo, tell me how long they've been doing this . . . this with the door closed . . . where you were not allowed entry?!"

Mikey shook his head miserably, not wanting to get his brothers into further trouble, but also scared that somehow whatever he answered might indict him to his father's wrath as well.

"Answer me!"

Mikey curled into himself and in a small voice said, "I dunno."

Splinter huffed through his nose. He shut his eyes and gripped the filthy magazines tightly in one claw. He stepped past Michelangelo and said, "Wait ten minutes then come into the dojo."

"H-Hai, Sensei."

Donatello set the board down just as Leonardo raced into the room, looking panicked and scared out of his wits. He sidestepped and hurried around in a circle, until he finally stood where they usually knelt before practice began. His hands never stopped moving as they folded and unfolded and wrung out his fingers.

Master Splinter entered and Leonardo dropped to his knees, his forehead lowered to the mat in supplication. Donatello quickly took his position and started as Master Splinter told him to stop and to go sit along the further wall. Without making a sound, Donatello hurried to comply. His eyes were round as Splinter paced in front of Leonardo's bowed form. He noticed rolled magazines in his father's grip and wondered just what the hell was going on. A moment later Raphael entered; his head low between his shoulders as he raced over to kneel before Splinter, next to Leonardo. Shoulder to shoulder.

Splinter froze and then reached down to grab Raphael's upper arm. He dragged him from where he sat and made him face Leonardo.

 _"Tachiagaru!"_  Splinter roared.

Leo obeyed and rose up, head low, eyes glassy, mournful and terrified as he stared up at his father, blinking rapidly.

He shook the rolled magazine at Leonardo and Raphael. "What is this filth doing in our home? Who do these belong to?"

Leonardo looked at Raphael who looked pale and shaken. Their eyes locked. Each boy said nothing.

"Answer me!" Splinter marched between them. When they refused to answer he beat them across the heads and shoulders with the paper. They cringed back. "What were you doing with these in your room?! You will answer me!"

Splinter backed away, trying and failing to compose himself. Of all the things his children could have done, he never imagined they could stoop to such depravity. Such sin. He glanced at his children as his breath came in shallow pants. Raphael's bottom lip trembled and Leo looked as though he were going to be ill.

He swallowed and twisted towards his younger boy. Hoping that he would learn it was a mistake, an innocent misunderstanding, nothing more, despite the scent of his sin all over him. He pinched his eyes closed and asked in a mostly level voice, "Raphael, where did you get this? Eh? What were you doing in that room with the door closed?"

Raphael pressed his lips tightly together and gave a slight shake of denial. He lurched forward and struck Raphael again upside the head, but the stubborn boy still refused to answer. Splinter stepped back again. His heart raced. He watched them, eying first one boy then the other. Noting the look of deep embarrassment on Raphael's face and feeling the guilt emanating from his oldest son. The way that Raphael's eyes continued to bounce from the floor to his brother.

A terrible suspicion began to take shape and with it, a sickening fright crawled icy fingers over his spine. What devilry had they gotten themselves into? What madness had infested his child? What lax on his part had given rise to the idleness which breeds deviance? Which cultivates sickness? His stomach curdled. It could not be. It could not. It had to be a misunderstanding. His boy. His son. He would not do something so vile. But the way Raphael continued to look with fear and shame at his older brother told him all he needed to know. In such situations there was always the abuser. The instigator. The more experienced one corrupting the younger. He advanced on Leonardo and as the boy fell back gripped him by the throat, lifting him and pushing him back until his shell hit the wall.

"What have you been doing to your sibling?" Splinter asked, eyes flashing, voice thick with dread. "Confess!"

Leonardo's eyes popped. He shook his head as much as was possible above his father's grip. "N-Nothing. M-Master!" His voice rose to a high pitch, "N-Nothing!"

Splinter held up the magazines to Leonardo's face. "Are these his, then? You claim innocence?"

Leo's eyes shot to Raphael, risen to his feet just behind Splinter, looking miserable and terrified, then back to his father's. He blinked and choked out in a small hoarse voice, cracking and breaking, "N-No. Th-They're mine. I-I brought them home! They're mine!"

"Why!? Why would you do this!?"

"I-I'm sorry, Sensei! I-I didn't mean . . ."

"How could you twist my trust in you!? Your brother's trust!? How could you harm your sibling in such a monstrous way?! He is your brother! Your brother, Leonardo!" Master Splinter's voice rose with despair.

Leonardo blinked uncomprehendingly. His mouth opened and closed. Understanding dawned and his heart nearly burst in anguish from what his father suspected him of doing. His face flushed a deep crimson. Tears welled and spilled over his cheeks. "I-I didn't . . . h-he . . . I s-swear, I d-didn't . . . I'd  _never_  . . . I'd n-never -"

Splinter twisted and flung Leonardo down knocking the wind from him just as Michelangelo entered the room. He gasped and covered his mouth and raced over to sit near Donatello. Donnie strung an arm over his shoulders and held on to him, taking in every word and processing it with clinical horror. Splinter was accusing Leonardo of abusing Raphael. Sexually abusing him. Suddenly, all their comradery, all their closeness made an awful kind of sickening sense and he felt his gorge rise. He never hated Raphael more than he did in that moment. Thinking, somehow, if it wasn't for Raph, the constant trouble maker, none of this could be happening.

Splinter shoved Leo with the heel of his foot, making him roll. He shifted and rose up on his knees, hands out and up, both pleading and sheltering himself from any further attack. "I-I wouldn't  _ever_ ," he panted, lost and pleading, "Please, Master S-Splinter,  _haah_ , let me . . . explain," his breath hitched between the cracking words. "I-I just . . . I just  _showed_  him . . ."

Splinter turned his back on his child and his sniveling lies and advanced on Raphael, who shrank back. "My son," Splinter whispered hoarsely, "tell me, you must be truthful . . . did he . . . did your brother do anything . . . inappropriate?" Raphael looked at him blankly and swallowed. Splinter clarified, and spoke around the disgust clogging his throat, "Did Leonardo ever lay a hand on you? Did he touch you?"

Raphael's face blanched. "N-No, Master Splinter!" he shouted, mortified. "No. He never did. Never. H-He . . . He only . . . He . . ."

Splinter's gaze intensified. "He did what? What did he do to you?"

Raphael started to pant. He felt cornered suddenly. His chest constricted and it was hard to breathe. His heart was a jack-hammer against his ribs. He looked at Leonardo and saw the terror in his eyes, the pleading for him to be quiet and then, at last the look of betrayal, just before Splinter stepped into his line of sight, blocking him from view.

Splinter's voice was low and soft and full of warning, "Do not lie to me, Raphael. Protecting him will make things worse. For both of you."

His father's words struck home. He thought of Leo's warnings about how Splinter would overreact, and now in the heat of the moment, he understood that if he wasn't completely honest that something terrible might happen. Their father had come to the horrifying misunderstanding that Leo had been molesting him. It wasn't true. It wasn't. But if he didn't speak up now, Splinter may separate them forever. He'd lose Leonardo if he tried to protect him. He'd lose his only friend. His stomach clenched and roiled. His knees wavered and his bowels turned watery. The room hung in silent anticipation of his reply. He took a sharp breath and steadied himself. His mouth was dry as he ducked his head and told his father the truth.

"He . . . told me to look at the pictures and t-touch myself."

Leonardo made the softest sound from behind Splinter just before he turned on him with a snarl. Raphael lunged forward to grasp at Splinter's robes with numb fingers, only to be hurtled back so roughly he fell onto his shell with a grunt. The back of his head hit the mat and he was temporarily dazed. He leaped up, stomach rolling and lurched forward, towards the surreal sight of his father beating his brother, only to be held back by his arms. He looked to the side to find Donatello holding him, dragging him back to the wall where Michelangelo cowered; his face hidden behind his hands, bawling over the sounds of Leonardo's discipline. Raphael slowly became aware that he was screaming for Donnie to let him go; squirming and fighting until he heard Donatello shouting back at him.

_"This is your fault! Raph! Your fault for being bad! As usual! Look at what you've done! I hate you!"_

Raphael collapsed in a sobbing heap as Donatello released him and punched his shell once. Behind them Splinter howled in outrage and disgust and Leonardo cried out in terror and whimpered in pain as he was disciplined. Dimly, he felt Michelangelo's hand rubbing his shell; his brother's young voice telling him it was okay.

But it wasn't. It wasn't okay. He'd ruined everything. He broke his vow. He betrayed his brother. He let him down in the worst possible way. He wasn't strong enough to protect Leo when he needed it. And all because he was selfish. He only wanted to keep Leo close to him.

The shame and guilt swallowed him, tumbling him into a pit, leaving him twisting and turning forever where no light could penetrate. Where he remained freefalling helplessly, until his brother, later that week, bruised and panting shallowly, trembling with exhaustion, crawled out from the dojo; taking wavering steps towards his tiny solitary room next to Master Splinter's. Raphael watched from the cracked opening of his bedroom door now shared with Mikey. He crept across the living room floor, terrified that Splinter might spy him from the dojo, the clock above on the wall telling him it was past two in the morning. Unseen, he slipped into Leo's room where he quietly made his way to his brother's beside and knelt.

Leonardo watched him from his pillow from where he lay on a cot nestled securely in one corner on the floor. The swelling around his eyes had gone down and the yellowed bruising gave him a strange, wild look; making the blue of his mournful eyes stand out in the darkness. They stared at each other in silence for a while.

Raphael's bottom lip trembled and his voice was hoarse and weak as he said, "I'm so sorry."

Leo closed his eyes and remained still for a long time. The only sound in the room was the unsteady wheezing and the broken panting gasps that Raphael made as he tried to normalize his breath and fight off the tears. He wanted to beg him for forgiveness, to make him understand the terror he felt at the thought of losing him. But the words remained buried beneath the lump in his throat. He could only wait in tortured silence for his brother's decision. Would they ever be friends again? Would they even be brothers?

When Leo opened his eyes, slowly, keeping them locked on Raphael's – there was only forgiveness written in them; only love. Raphael choked and lurched forward, throwing his arm around his brother and bringing his forehead to his.

"I was so stupid. I shouldn't have said anything! But I thought he'd make you go away if I lied. He was wrong. You didn't do anything to me! You didn't do anything bad," he hiccupped. "I'll make him understand and I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll find a way," he babbled on until Leonardo patted the back of his head.

"No, Raph, it's okay," he murmured, then his face darkened. "Besides, it doesn't matter. H-He won't ever –" he trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm fine. A little extra training will be good for me." His voice cracked, "I'm the leader after all."

"So, ya forgive me?" Raph blurted, needing to know, still feeling as though he were tumbling down into a never ending pit of fear and doubt.

"Raph," Leo sighed a gentle laugh, "of course I do."

And just like that, Leo caught him again.

# # #

In KoKoa's arms he quaked and shuddered, the memory of Leo's eyes in the dark, of that infinite love and forgiveness spurred his release. He groaned and cursed and finally fell limp in her arms, spent; crushing her with his bulk until he rolled to one side, covering his face with one hand.

He suddenly burst into tears. She reached for him and he rolled away from her. He fell to the floor and lurched forward. He slammed his fists into the floor and climbed unsteadily to his feet. He staggered to the bedroom door and hung his forearm against the frame, shoulders heaving, body swaying. After a moment he looked over his shoulder to the woman, looking frightened and concerned, reaching out for him. Her eyes bright in the darkness. Twisting the shame of what he'd done – what he always did – like a knife in his heart.

He was not worthy of love or forgiveness. He was nothing but a vile monster. One that was damned to only live up to what he was made for: hurting the people he loved most.

He groaned and choking, barely managed, "I'm so sorry."

Before she made it off the mattress, he was gone from the room. As she hurried out into the living room, legs quivering, heart hammering, there was no sign of him. Too weak to pursue him, KoKoa meandered into the kitchen, fingering his leather jacket where it lay over the back of one chair and gathered it up in her fists. She brought it to her face, breathing in his scent and sunk to the floor.

"Baby, what are you sorry for?" she asked aloud, trailing her fingers along the zippered pockets and feeling the pull of exhaustion lull her to sleep.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Phew, and now you understand to what misunderstanding I was referring to in the previous chapter's author notes. Poor Raph. KoKoa, you gotta save him, honey. Don't just lay there like a mass of pudding. Get UP GIRL! Sorry, I got caught up. ahem.


	8. Balancing Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry about the HIDEOUS wait on this one. I humbly ask for your forgiveness. Let me make it up to you, yeah? Ready for Donatello and Raphael to confront each other? Heh, I've been listening to the angry/sorrowful melodies by the Strokes in prep for this chapter. I hope you enjoy.

 

"Twenty ways to see the world, oh  
Twenty ways to start a fight, oh" - The Strokes, You Only Live Once

* * *

 

 

Donatello padded across the cool linoleum of the hallway which led to the kitchen. Sleep had eluded him, though he'd dozed a few times throughout the movie. Once in bed, he tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling. The sound of April's steady breathing brought him no comfort. He felt anxious. Distracted.

"I'm getting old," he muttered to himself with no small amount of disgust.

He glanced at the illumination from the microwave's clock. Inwardly he groaned. Three in the morning was too early to start the day, yet it was hopeless to try at this point.

Insomnia had taken root these past few years, coming and going in varying degrees, but lately, it was a rare thing for him to sleep through the night. Too many unfinished projects left abandoned for too long and too many worries weighed upon his consciousness. He couldn't find relief with sleep, so he'd pace and waste away the long, lonely hours of the night. Alone with his thoughts. Feeling drained. Exhausted and wired.

When younger, he could pull all-nighters without a problem, always at his best when under the most pressure. But that was when he had things to do – inventions to create, worlds to save. Purpose. Drive. These things he'd shed along with the constant terrorizing by the Foot and all the nemesis that joined them. Those days of high-risk, high-adventure were long past.

Their lives were peaceful, prosaic, in every way except where KoKoa's behavior was involved. He sighed.

Maybe it wasn't all that bad.

Though, sometimes, in the stillness of the dead of night, gazing out the window into the restless city, he longed for it all back. To feel the rush of the black sky above, the lights of the traffic below as he raced along the rooftops. To feel the perfect balance of his bo dancing along his palm and knuckles between his hands; the perfect weapon: defensive and offensive all in one. To feel the joy of building something more imaginative than a hot-water heating system.

His brothers by his side. Racing the night. Fighting within an inch of their lives. The danger. The thrills. The comraderie. He could almost hear the ringing sound of their jubilant laughter surrounding him. A suave against frayed nerves after a close call.

Leo so calm, sure, quietly encouraging and supportive. Always the balancing factor. Always the brace which they tested their fears, doubts and anger against.

 _I could use some of that now,_  he thought with a droop in his shoulders.

Donatello felt a shift in the air around him. A breath or a sigh. Like . . . like  _he_  so often did when they tested his leadership, his role as eldest, his patience with their jibes, jokes and immaturity.

Don stiffened and twisted, looking into the gloom of the dimly lit room, feeling the uncanny surety that someone had been there with him.

His mouth opened and he took a step forward. "Leo?" he whispered. Immediately he froze, admonishing himself. He chuckled coldly and ran a hand over his face. "Christ, Donnie-boy, you better have April check you for senile dementia later."

Still chuckling, shaking his head in disgust, he opened the cupboard and took out a mug. Filling it with water and dropping a tea bag into, he cocked his head to one side at the sound of a motorcycle's engine rumbling down their block, interrupting the stillness of the night.

A trickle of unease crawled along the back of his neck. Brushing it aside, he pulled open the microwave door and as quietly as he could, closed it and set the timer.

He crossed his arms, falling into a semi-daze, trying to forget that he'd just asked for his long-dead brother, sure that he was just there, just next to him. He blew out a breath, attempting to slow his rapidly beating heart, but started as the motorcycle engine grew louder only to suddenly cut off. His head cocked, listening past the thrumming microwave into the silence beyond.

A terrible sense of foreboding pressed down upon him. The unease morphed into dread as he hurried from the kitchen down the hall to the living room, running to meet an imagined visitor, one made entirely up from his paranoia and no doubt, burgeoning senile dementia, but unable to find the humor in the situation. Sure this time that there was someone actually coming.

His feet hit the worn rug just as someone rapped insistently at the front door. He froze but for a heartbeat. He dashed forward. As he pulled open the door, his brother burst inside.

"Raph."

His brother ambled past him, head hunched, hands moving in all directions as if he were trying to grasp something to keep himself steady. Something was wrong. Donatello leaned forward, peering about for his adopted daughter. Seeing nothing, he wheeled around and gripped Raph by the shoulder, spinning him.

"What's happening? Why are you here? Where's KoKo?"

At the sound of the girl's name, Raphael seemed to wilt before his eyes.

Blinking and frowning, Donatello steadied him, moving his brother so that part of his bulk was up against the wall for support. Never had he felt his brother so weak in his hands, as if all the musculature had grown soft, liquid. Beneath the harsh odor of alcohol, an odd scent wafted from him, one that pried at the back of Donatello's mind, but he couldn't focus, Raph seemed near-delirious.

"Oh, Don. Don," Raph groaned.

His hands were clammy where they pawed at Donatello, and his clothes wrinkled and in disarray. He choked and grew quiet, but no less still. His entire body quaked in tremors and his head continued to crawl and bob from side to side, as if the weight was nearly too great for his neck to support.

Without realizing it, Don had balled the front of his shirt up in a knot. "Get it together," he hissed. "Tell me what happened – is she hurt? Are you hurt? Talk to me, dammit!"

Raph mutely shook his head. He covered Don's fists with both hands and dropped his head so low Donatello was looking at the top of it.

For a moment neither made a sound. They stood, an inch apart, breathing heavy, waiting for one or the other to speak, Raphael kneading the tops of Donatello's hands, restless and frantic.

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. A wet, strangled sob. His voice was choked, raw. "I fucked up."

With the blurted statement, the bitter stench of alcohol assaulted Donatello's snout. He tensed. Raph was drunk. The nagging crick in his back, brought on from inactivity and age, tightened. Pain shot between his shoulder blades, but he ignored it. With some effort, he peeled his hands from Raphael's shirt, slid out them from beneath his brother's and stepped back.

His voice was a whisper thin veil of accusation. "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry –"

"Start from the beginning."

"The story's too long to start there." Raph rolled his blood-shot eyes and sank a little against the wall. "Nothin' new to it. Same shit over and over and over again. Everything I love . . . everyone I love . . ."

Donatello glanced at the clock, if his daughter was out there somewhere, captured or worse, they were wasting precious time. And yet, Raph was standing before him sporting no wounds that he could see. He only damage here was self-sustained from the heavy drinking. How Raph had made it here with crashing his bike was beyond him.

"Stop babbling like a lunatic and talk to me."

Raph nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "You're right. You're right. You're always right, Donnie."

Donatello suppressed an irritated sigh.

"I am nuts. I'm diseased. I'm filth. I need to be put away. I need to be . . . " He searched around. When he looked up a manic gleam shone in his eyes. "I need ending, bro."

"Raph!"

He jumped and broke down into sobbing. "If only Leo were here," he cried. "He'd know. He'd know that I never meant to do anything bad. He'd understand. He always understood. He always did. He got me."

Donatello's hand shot out before he could stop himself. The crack of his palm smacking his brother's face resounded like a thunderclap inside the living room. "Enough!"

Raph stumbled to one side, holding his face.

"Leo isn't here. He's dead, Raph. He's been dead for almost two decades!"

"I know, I know," Raph croaked. He crumpled back. "It's just . . . I wish . . . I wish I could tell him how it is . . . how I never meant to fall for her. That I know it's wrong and I'm letting you all down, but I can't help it."

Donatello's voice came in out low and hoarse, barely above a whisper. "What are you saying?"

Gasping, Raphael blurted, "KoKoa! I love her. I love her, Donnie. I love her. Leo. I'm sorry!"

If he'd had said anything else, anything at all, Donatello would have been able to remain calm. But a storm of ugly suspicion had been building for months, and now it broke upon them. When Raphael looked up to meet his gaze, the guilt written clearly in his eyes told Donatello everything he didn't want to know.

There was a flash of darkness, a haze of red, a blinding light as if the storm had erupted in the space between the two brothers. Sounds became echoes, reflections of vibrations, white-noise declaring nothing. A drumming motion, nearly soothing, rocked his body. Vaguely his was aware of his arms moving, of a hammer being thrown and making a satisfying connection with a meaty surface.

The violence, an old friend, slipped into place with satin smoothness. It felt satisfying to unleash it. To roll with the choreography of the dark dance. It was a relief. An itch that had long been too awkwardly placed to reach, now scratched. Scratched raw. Bloody.

And then there were hands, too many of them, gripping and clawing over his shoulders, shell and head. He squirmed and writhed against the pull of them, losing his footing and falling back. Crashing to the floor on top of other bodies, where sound resumed its natural tone and light filtered colors back into the normal range.

Before his eyes: hands. But these, his own, broken knuckles, swollen and cracked. Covered in blood, but not his own. Voices howled and screamed in his suddenly too-sensitive ears. He moved to cover them, realizing only now that he was shouting, too. Screaming some nonsense about vowing to kill his brother.

His brother. The shadow that lumbered and fell - too quiet to be Raph, but who else could it have been - collapsing only to rise again and flee. Leaving a trace of blood along the floor. Crimson and wet. Accusatory in its brightness against the low light of the early morning.

Logic snapped in place.  _Raphael. My brother. What have you done? What have I done?_

Donatello fell silent, limp in his wife's arms. Stunned, unable to move. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mikey running towards them from the front door. He dropped.

"Don?"

His voice came from a long distance away, but Donatello turned towards the warm sound of his little brother's honey voice. A wave of homesickness spread over him. He wanted to close his eyes and make everything wrong disappear. All the second guessing, the errors in judgement, the blaming, the resentments and regrets, all the mistakes, why couldn't they just vanish? Where was the balancing force between them?

He moaned.

He wanted to be small again, nestled in a corner, safe in a book, overlooked, ignored and happy. Before the jealousy. Before the divisiveness between them. Before they grew old and bitter and wounded and scarred and lost.

Tears blinded him.

"Don? Can you hear me?"

He blinked in answer.

"April, prop him here," Mikey said, above him.

He was jostled and still found he could neither speak nor move. His limbs tingled but the world was a cotton-coated, padded room against his senses.

"Get him something – yeah, yeah. Water is great." Then to Donatello, "What happened? Can you tell me?"

Donatello stared at his brother, lost and helpless. He opened his mouth and without planning on it, from no control of his own said, "Raphael raped my daughter."

All the color in Michelangelo's face drained away. He fell back, eyes searching. He looked up and leaned forward. His mouth pressed into a hard line, eyes intense, never wavering as he looked hard into Donatello's. "Did he tell you that? Did he actually say that? Is that why you attacked him?"

Don said nothing.

"Donatello, look at me. Did he tell you that? Did he look at you and tell you exactly that?"

"He's a monster."

Mikey fell back onto one thigh. He rested the heel of his hand against his forehead, elbow propped on his bent knee. His breath came in heaves as he tried to calm himself.

April came with a bottle of water, tipping it to his mouth. "Shh, Donnie. It's okay."

The front door slammed against the wall, making everyone jump. Donatello, April and Michelangelo all turned in unison towards the sound.

"Hey," KoKoa said, running into the room only to stop dead before them all, catching her breath and looking surprised to find them all in the positions they were in.

"KoKo!" Mikey shouted, raising up on his knees and looking her over. She appeared tired and a little worn out, but other than that, she seemed fine. Over her shoulders, she wore Raphael's heavy leather jacket. Her feet were bare.

Donatello slowly straightened up, looking at her, scanning for any sign of harm.

Mikey gaped, mouth gaping as he glanced from her to Don and back again. "She's okay," he said, voice cracking with relief. Then he frowned. "Isn't she?" He turned to KoKoa. "KoKo, are you okay?"

Before she could answer, April gasped. "KoKo, what are you doing out on a night like this in bare feet?"

"Not now," she snapped. "Look, I need to find Raph. There was a-a . . . What do you call it? A misunderstanding, okay? Did he come here? He did, right? Well?!"

Everyone looked at Donatello.

Her eyes followed to her adoptive father, who moved to hide his knuckles.

"Well? Answer me!" KoKoa bounced where she stood impatiently.

He gave a brief nod.

KoKoa turned to go. "Dammit, I thought I heard his bike. Mikey, can I borrow yours?"

Mikey opened his mouth, climbing to stand, when Don suddenly barked, "Wait!"

KoKoa wheeled around. "What?! I gotta go! You don't understand. You never understand."

"You're going to wait," he growled. And the sound was so unlike his usual tender voice, so full of fury, of bitterness, no one moved. April covered her mouth in shock.

"Tell me what happened tonight. Tell me and you can take the van or Michelangelo's bike or whatever else you want and you can go looking for him all night, all over the city. Look for him for the rest of your life for all I care. But first you are going to explain what is going on between the two of you."

April made an exasperated sound and Donatello raised his hand to quiet her.

"Explain it all to me and to your mother," he said, voice dropping into resignation. "Make her understand what's going on, because she won't believe it from anyone else."

KoKoa sighed, crossing her arms. "Oh my god. I don't have time for this. And neither does Raphael."

"Don," Mikey started, a pleading note in his voice. "Whatever is happening here, whatever it is you think happened, I don't care. I'm going after Raph myself."

"No!" KoKoa cried. "Lemme come with you!"

"No one is going anywhere until I get answers!" Donatello hollered.

Mikey fell back, shoulders slumping. "Bro," he whispered, voice choking, eyes growing wide with terror, "you know how he gets. He might . . . do something."

Donatello narrowed his eyes, never taking them off his daughter. He nodded grimly. "Then she better start talking."


	9. Gold

_"We were opposites at birth._

_I was steady as a hammer._

_No one worried 'cause they knew just where I'd be._

_And they said you were the crooked kind_

_and that you'd never have no worth._

_But you were_

_always_

_gold to me."_  –Always Gold, Radical Face

***************************************************

The room's occupants remained at a standstill. The urgency of the moment built, roiling around them, columns of invisible stress, pressing down oppressively. Donatello's stance did not change, his command hung around them, suspended, keeping them prisoner in a bubble of inertia.

KoKoa narrowed her eyes. Her glare cut from Donatello to April, the easier of the two to manipulate, to hurt. The imposter in her life. "You're just going to let this happen," KoKoa spat, slapping her thighs.

April returned her glowering with a pleading look. "Honey, we need to know what's going on. Please."

"Figure it out. I'm gone."

She wheeled on her heel, making for the door when Donatello lurched upright. He gripped her arm and spun her to face him. She barked out a cry of alarm as he flung her away toward the sofa.

 _"Sit down!"_  he growled, the words blending into one hoarse, barked order.

April gasped behind a hand. "Donnie!" She rose, pulling her robe tightly around her. Her expression jumped from shock to disappointment, all directed at Donatello.

He glanced at her and swept his gaze away. His chest heaved and he shook his hands out at his sides, the swollen, bleeding knuckles throbbing. He did not move from his position barring the front door. Wouldn't. Not until she explained. Not until the truth was finally out. Ugly or not. It was time for honesty.

To prove he'd been right. All along.

Michelangelo stared at Donatello, clearly pissed. He pressed his mouth into a line and stood, stepping up just behind KoKoa where she balanced on tip-toe, rigid and furious, trembling. "C'mon," he said.

Gently, he took her by the elbow, making her flinch. Whatever she was about to spit at Donatello in retort died with his touch. The air around her deflated as she relented. She jerked aside, away from him and threw herself down onto the couch, crossing her arms and scowling out into the air. "This is stupid." She crossed her legs and bobbed one foot in a frantic motion.

"Maybe if you just –" Mikey began when suddenly April interrupted him.

"I think it would be best if you tell us what happened tonight," April offered as she stuffed her hands into the deep front pockets of her robe. "Start there." Her cheeks and tip of her nose were rosy with emotion.

KoKoa narrowed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest pointedly ignoring everyone in the room. Foot bobbing furiously. Saying nothing as the minutes stretched out.

Mikey ran a slightly shaking hand over his face and settled on the edge of the sofa perpendicular to where KoKoa pouted in stubborn silence. "Christ," he muttered, glancing at the front door behind Donatello, counting the seconds that had passed since his unstable sibling had fled this room. Beaten and bloody. And why? The weight of Donatello's earlier accusation draped like a swelling python across the back of his neck.

Donatello remained, stiff and motionless, frozen in seething fury. The only movement being his eyes as they flicked from April to his adopted daughter. Suddenly, he spoke. "Answer. Your mother."

KoKoa jutted her chin in the too-familiar mimicry of her long-dead biological mother, a motion made of DNA and inherited gestures, not of intimate acquaintance. Though April had raised her, there was more of Karai in KoKoa's movements, general attitude and expressions. Her lips lightened as she pressed them tightly. Refusing to answer. Her eyes shot to the clock on the wall and her jaw jumped.

This was a complete waste of time.

Sitting forward, slamming her hands into either side of the couch, she shouted, "None of your damn business!"

"KoKoa!" April shouted back. She pointed down the hall. "One more outburst like that and you'll spend the next week in your room. Even if I have to bolt the windows and door from the outside."

KoKoa sat back, a sneer on her face. "Oh my. God." She leveled a look at April. "I'm not a child. Not anymore."

There was an underlying sneer to the last statement that made Mikey internally wince. For someone claiming to be an adult, she was not handling the situation with anything close to maturity.

"Enough," Donatello said, raising his hands and looking at the bleeding remnants before dropping them back. "What I want is simple. I want you to explain to us the nature of your relationship with Raphael. Your uncle."

She shrugged. Shook her head as if casting off an unpleasant thought.

"Please, KoKo," Mikey urged from beside her. He slid off the edge of the cushion and crouched before her. "Think of Raph."

She started. The first sign of something like real emotion flitted over her features. She blinked owlishly at Michelangelo and her throat worked.

"There's nothing to explain, really," she said, voice quiet and small as the occupants pressed incrementally closer to her, listening. Her hand crept forward and slipped over Mikey's in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

"I don't care if it's wrong or right or whatever. He's not like that – to me. Not like, I dunno a relative. I mean," she huffed, "I just met him last year."

Mikey nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"And . . . I . . . I knew that there was something – different about him. Something special. Besides being like me, I mean. He was . . . so broken. I knew I was the only one who could help him."

Donatello scoffed in the back of his throat. As KoKoa moved to glare at him, Mikey caught her chin and directed her gaze back to him. "And?"

She shook her head, anger flashing, but fading. "As stupid as it sounds," she inhaled deeply before announcing, "since the first second I saw him, I've loved him."

Behind them, April gasped and Donatello said something to her that neither Mikey nor KoKoa caught.

Her eyes grew large and the light within them fierce. Voice rising, "I don't care what anyone thinks or says. Because all that is bullshit." Tears welled in her eyes and one spilled over her cheek. "He . . . He needs me," she choked. "I'll die without him! I love him. And he loves me. He does."

She risked a quick glance around before settling back on Mikey's face, finding solace in his compassionate expression, blinking the tears away and shuddering, trying to compose herself, cheeks flushed.

"We're meant for one another, don't you get it?"

Mikey covered her hand and gently squeezed. "I know," he whispered. And he meant it.

# # #

The music beat against the door like a furious landlord looking to collect the overdue rent. Mikey felt the vibrations all the way down the hallway where he stood, considering his options. Donatello was nowhere in sight, no doubt hunkering down at the dump, while this, yet another domestic storm, passed. April hovered behind him, worrying a dishcloth and looking lost in the way she always did when confronted with her temperamental adopted daughter's mood swings and ferocity.

Fortunately for April, Mikey had had plenty of experience dealing with moody, temperamental personalities. His family was the definition of oppositional, emotional train-wrecks.

"She's been in there since this morning," April explained for the third time. "What can I do? She can't just go out in the middle of the day or night without even asking, let alone telling us," she continued, sounding tired and worn down. "She can't go out at all, really. We've been over and over this. She won't accept reality. This isn't my fault. None of this is my fault."

Mikey said over one shoulder, "Hey, why don't you go get some coffee."

April shook her head. "I can't. I can't just run off every time things get bad. What kind of mom does that make me?"

He turned around. "April, I got this. And you're not running away. What you need is a break. A chance to get your head clear. Go on, get out of the house."

She looked skeptical.

"C'mon. She's in good hands. This isn't the first time I've talked someone down," he joked, but there was a specter haunting the edge of the light-hearted comment.

A vision ghosted across the back of his mind: Raphael standing at the far end of the sheltered shipping dock, staring out into the black water framed by a black sky. The briny air laced with the cloying scent of decaying sea life. Everything rotten here: the place where the ship had departed weeks ago. Taking his brother, his idol, far, far away; out of his reach, out of his life. Forever.

Raphael, poised at the very edge, rigid and lost, ready to do something drastic and irrevocable. The startled look in his eyes when he'd finally turned to see Mikey standing there, gripping his shoulders, hollering in his ear until hoarse, calling for to him to stop, as if he'd already had said his goodbyes and had not counted on being stalled, let alone halted in his dark act of self-destruction.

Mikey cleared his throat, chasing away the ephemeral threads of that frightening memory, unable to banish the thick lump lodged there. From that moment on, he'd become an emotional caretaker to his big broken brother. But, in all honesty, the job wasn't anything new. Not for him.

April finally relented and left, leaving Mikey alone with KoKoa's thrumming door. And a teenager's furious indignation and sorrow.

He tried knocking in various patterns meant to display that it was him at the door and not her mother or father, only to resort to calling out several times and pounding the flat of his hand on the wood before the music dimmed and stopped. The door opened enough for him to peer through.

She'd been crying, face puffy and pinked, eyes bloodshot and glassy. Any irritation he might have been feeling toward her melted away, leaving him standing in a puddle of sympathy.

"Hey," he said.

"Oh, Uncle Mikey," she hiccupped and swung the door open to allow him entrance.

Several balled up tissues and various expletives directed at her over-bearing parental figures later, Mikey had her calmed enough to speak at a tone and pitch his ringing ears could actually decipher.

"It wasn't a big deal," she said, wiping at her reddened eye. "I just wanted to see where he lived. You know, not like a stalker, but, just, I dunno. I wanted to picture him somewhere besides the newspaper stand. Is that so wrong? Is it?"

Mikey listened, saying nothing.

"I was totally safe. All ninja-like, just how Donnie taught me."

Mikey flinched at the use of her father's name, something new she'd begun to do. An act of defiance, but Mikey understood there was something else brewing at the center of these caustic developments between his niece and her adoptive parents.

Emilio, or rather, that's what she'd decided to call the boy she'd currently been obsessed with, worked at a magazine stand on the corner of 5th and 42nd. KoKoa had spotted him during the rare times that April allowed her to accompany her to the grocery store on the corner from the stand. She had to stay in the relative safety of the back of the van, windows darkened enough to allow her to peer out but not be seen.

"Now, it's like they want to make me a prisoner here. Do you get it? How unfair it is? I'm not allowed to go out, like, ever, Uncle Mikey!" She dissolved into more sobbing curses as he handed her another trio of tissues.

He'd known about the newspaper-stand-guy because he'd managed to become something of a sounding board for the young girl. One of her few outlets in a world made up entirely of the walls of this apartment building, the internet and her imagination.

She'd been crushing on the human for a few weeks and he'd hoped that it would have blown over. But just as with the delivery van driver a year ago, her obsession only grew until a loud and upsetting fight between Donatello, April and her quashed the young girl's romantic hopes.

Mikey appreciated that KoKoa trusted him with her honest feelings, but it sometimes put him in an awkward position. But that didn't mean he didn't get it. He did. Big time. Trapped in this building, between these walls, the girl was languishing. Yearning for contact beyond her immediate and stifling family. Something he understood far too well.

She wasn't underground in an abandoned subway station – but she was no less alone, cut off and aching for friendship – with the temptation of a world that sat just outside her bedroom window.

"I don't understand," she went on, rousing Mikey from his thoughts. "Why can't I just try to talk to him? I bet he'd be fine with how I look. It's really not such a big deal. You know, I don't even have a shell like my dad did. I'm much more like her, actually."

Mikey knew when she spoke like this, she was referring to Leonardo and Karai. That she lately wanted to act as though she raised herself was another point of contention between her and his brother and sister-in-law. And he didn't blame them, there. However, to miss her real parents, her biological parents was another thing that Michelangelo could empathize with. He loved Splinter. With all his heart, but how many times had he wished for a regular, normal family like on television?

She chewed on the corner of her mouth, blinking rapidly. She sniffed. "Is it really that impossible? Look at April. Or even Uncle Casey. They totally accepted you guys."

Mikey remembered April fainting and the way Casey had nearly beaten Raph to death when they'd first met. Could've been worse, sure. But not quite what KoKoa was imagining.

"I know it sucks. But you have to remember something. They just want to make sure you stay safe," he said and heard how lame that sounded. "They don't mean to make you miserable."

"I get that. But you know what I've realized?"

Mikey tipped his head.

"How will I ever meet anyone if I can't leave the house? If I can't even try? I'm not a monster. I'm just a girl that looks a little different . . . It's not fair."

Mikey closed his eyes. He thought of his brothers, thought of the roof-top runs and the whispered conversations between Raphael and Leonardo that they thought remained between the two of them. The longing for escape. For meeting someone who'd accept them. They all felt it though they'd not dare speak of it in front of Splinter. He'd done his best for them. Why hurt him with impossible yearnings for something out of his control.

But then later, the bright hopefulness that blossomed when they met April. The disbelief and fear as she and Donatello became closer. It was a forbidden dream come true. One they all had wanted, badly.

One that quickly changed into a nightmare when Leonardo was smitten with Karai.

Mikey sighed. "It's a complicated situation." He looked at her, wanting to say more, but at a loss for a way to fix this. Her loneliness and isolation ate at him, chewing through the defenses of his heart.

She huffed and turned her gaze inwards, full of contemplation, looking so much like her father that Mikey's heart pinched.

After a long while, she said, "I'm going to die alone."

Mikey started. He began to laugh, but choked it back as her somber gaze locked on him. Blue eyes like Leo's, so full of heaviness, so full of the weight of the world, so full of nameless yearning. Too much like him. So much like him.

Mikey had to make this right for her. Somehow.

"It's going to be okay," he promised, whispering, unable to speak any louder, a shapeless idea forming in the recesses of his mind, one that was desperate and probably hopeless, but Mikey's heart told him a different story: one of hope.

#

As April entered the apartment later, her face lit up at Mikey, cocking her head to one side, noticing the quiet. "No explosions. No charred remains. You got through to her?"

Mikey rubbed the back of his head. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. She's feeling better, I think. A little."

April handed him a large cup of hot cocoa. "Thank you, Mikey," she said. "I knew that raising her would be tricky, especially once she became a teenager, but," she shook her head, going on, "this has been really, really hard. The acting out, the anger . . . I don't know where it comes from." April paused. "Just like her mother. Exactly like her."

Mikey's gaze dropped, not sure what to say to that rare admission.

"Well, I'm not sure what to do anymore. Donnie's coming down so hard on her, too. It isn't helping. We end up fighting and arguing and it's like this never ending circle of frustration. I'm not sure what the right thing to do is. I wish Splinter were here."

Mikey's heart clenched. "Me, too," he murmured.

"I don't know how he did it. Keeping you all underground for so long."

"Was hard on all of us, I think."

April nodded absentmindedly, not really listening. She rubbed her hands together and crossed her arms. "I never wanted to be her, what? Her warden? Putting her on lock down, making demands like telling her she can never go out again, but what else can we do? I'm at a loss. A complete loss here."

Mikey stared for a while at the steaming cocoa, watching the whipped cream dissolving into the dark, chocolate depths. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, "April," he started, "I think, maybe, you need someone else's perspective on the situation."

April's chuckle was hollow. "Oh, yeah. Sure. But I doubt there's any therapists in town that will be able to get past this family's, uh, nonconforming appearances."

"Nah, I didn't mean like a therapist. But," he hesitated, what he was about to do would set them all on a path that might end badly.

April stared at him expectantly. Hope and skepticism flickering in her eyes.

He could keep his mouth shut. Right now. Change nothing. Do what was right in the eyes of the world. Roll with the punches and do his part in keeping KoKoa separate from the outside, alone and cushioned by the family, the people that she'd only ever know. Let her learn to live within the confines of this comfortable prison. Maybe she'd prove it was possible. Maybe she'd lose her mind or worse.

Couldn't he at least give her the opportunity? A real chance at something like happiness.

And in the process, perhaps save his brother.

It was crazy. Reckless. And probably wrong. But his heart was telling him a different story. A crazy, mixed-up tale of two lost people finding one another and rescuing themselves from a life of guilt, regret, dread and tedium.

Matters of the heart never made any sense.

"I think I have an idea of how to help."

"Go on," April said, now earnestly interested.

"It might take a bit of time, not to mention, convincing. I dunno if he'd even agree to it."

April cocked her head. "He? You mean Donnie?"

Mikey glanced over his shoulder, down the hall to KoKoa's now silent room, then back to April. "No. Not Donatello."

He swallowed roughly.

"Raphael."

# # #

"In love with . . ." April started, stepping forward, face a mask of incredulity. "In love with?" she repeated, sounding more confused than ever.

Donatello said, "You don't know what you're talking about. This is just another obsession. A sick one."

KoKoa stared at Michelangelo. He broke from her and looked over his shoulder at April and his brother.

"You can't be," April went on, voice thin and wavering. "KoKoa, you can't."

"He seduced her."

April blanched at Donatello's statement. "What?"

"Took advantage of her innocence, her inexperience. What? There's nothing to act surprised over. He's been unstable for years. Since we were kids, actually. I've always known there was something wrong with him. I just can't understand why it took so long for you to accept it. Even though I kept trying to warn you. That I knew something like this was bound to happen. It was only a matter of time."

April stared at her husband, aghast. She collected herself and immediately shot back, "Maybe because I'm not always assuming the absolute worst in people. Maybe because I don't resent the only family I've got."

"I don't  _resent_  him. I see him for what he  _is_!" Donatello pointed at KoKoa who had her face in her hands. "A pathetic, sad, sick –"

Mikey jumped up.  _"Enough!"_

April and Donatello stumbled back.

Quieter now, "Enough." His chest heaved, eyes wild, bouncing from April back to Donatello, glaring and flashing in rage. "You don't get to judge him, Donnie. Or her. Not you. Not ever."

"KoKoa, honey, please tell me this isn't happening," April said, moving around behind Mikey towards her.

Mikey blocked her path. "Leave her alone."

"She's my daughter."

"Like she said: She's not a child. And she knows her own heart."

His face shot to Donatello. "You've always had a problem with Raph. I never understood it. Never got what he did to you."

"It was what he did to Leo."

"He didn't do anything to Leo!"

"You've a selective memory, little brother. And I think you'd believe anything. You always wanted to get in good with them."

"Me!?"

"That's right! You were always chasing after them. The only reason you ending up hanging out with me so much was that those too were too cool to hang with a loser like me-" Donatello choked. He straightened and shook his head. He pinched his eyes shut and snapped them open. "That doesn't matter. That's in the past. Ancient history."

"Donnie," Mikey said, voice quivering, "family stuff is never ancient history." He took in a shuddering breath. "Raph and Leo loved you. Just like I did and do. Yeah, they were close. But it wasn't to spite us. It was never like that. Never."

Donatello held up his hand. "Please stop. I don't need any explanations. I don't need anything from you."

"Yeah," Mikey replied, huffing bitterly, "that's right. You never wanted anything from me. You never wanted anything to do with me."

"It's not like that."

"I know what it's like. And trust me, I know jealousy when I see it, bro. You're not the only one who wanted Leo's attention."

Donatello stared at the oozing knuckles of his hand poking from over his crossed arms. "This is irrelevant. KoKoa is my daughter and she's been put into a compromising situation. It isn't her fault. If anything, it's mine. For putting her within reaching distance of that disgusting creep."

Mikey strode up and shoved Donatello. He stumbled back and hit his shell against the wall. "Shut up! Will you?" Mikey crowded Donatello and he shoved Mikey back. Michelangelo knocked his hands away, getting back into his brother's face. "Listen to yourself! You sound like you hate him! What did he ever do to you?! Huh!?"

"Nothing! That's what!" Mikey grabbed Donatello's shoulders and shoved him again, he vaguely heard April hollering behind him to please stop. He shrugged off her pawing hands. He moved to step away only to get back into Donatello's face.

"The only person he's ever hurt has been himself."

He wheeled around and stood, shaking and fighting tears. His voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk after shouting so much, but he said, "When April came into our lives. When things got serious with you two, no one stood in your way." He looked over his shoulder, "When it was you and April -" Donatello shook his head, trying to cut Mikey off, but the younger brother insisted, spoke over him.

"When it was you and April," he repeated, voice cracking, "you wouldn't have let anything or anyone stop you. It didn't matter what the world thought."

"It's not the same," Donatello insisted.

"It doesn't matter! The right and wrong here, the rules of the game aren't the same for us! They never were! If that was the case you'd still be underground. Alone! And you," he turned on April who snapped her mouth shut. "How many times did you fight against what you thought was acceptable? And why? So you could love him!" He pointed at Donatello.

His voice croaked and broke, "Karai and Leo fought against the entire world for their right to love one another. It cost them their lives."

He fumed, glaring from April to Donnie and back again. "And now you're going to stand in the way of love. You? And for what? Because you still harbor a childhood jealousy over something as stupid as favoritism between our brothers?"

April covered her face and shuddered. Donatello looked thoroughly shaken and ill. No one spoke for a long while. The only sounds in the room were the labored breathing of the occupants. At last, Donatello opened his mouth.

But April beat him to the punch. "No."

Mikey stared at her. From the couch, KoKoa looked up, slowly.

"No, Mikey. We're not." April shook her head and hugged herself. Donatello shook his head in disbelief. "Donnie, he's right."

"What!?"

April sniffed. "I . . . I think I . . . I think I knew what was happening. All along. The whole time. Bringing Raph back into our lives last year, bringing him into hers," April nodded. "It's okay. Honey, it's okay," she said to KoKoa.

Donatello shook his head, approached April and reached out for both comfort and stability. She pulled away, and he shot her a terrified look, but then she gripped his hands with both of hers. She leveled a look at him, tears staining her cheeks. "You have to see. It's okay," she whispered. "They're all they have. I'm not going to stand in the way of that. You wouldn't let anything come between us before. Will you start now?"

He stared, speechless for several moments. Then, Donatello ducked his head. She pulled him forward into her arms.

"Okay," Mikey said as he blew out a tremulous breath. April nodded at him. "Okay," he repeated. He turned to KoKoa and offered his hand.

"Let's go find him."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh that song. I can barely listen to it because I'm overwhelmed with different TMNT scenes it brings into my head. It's just . . . so . . . Mikey to me. Ah...those lyrics! The ones at the start of this chapter just scream 'Mikey looking up to Raph', don't they? WAAAAH! This story is gonna kill me. The next chapter is the finale and it's gonna be an emotional whopper!
> 
> Oh my, well anyway, I'm so sorry for the long waits between updates. I'm going to keep trying my best to update as soon as I can. My plan is still to finish this story and then Domino and get to Sins of the Fathers when my slate is clear. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading!


	10. Free to Fall (Finale)

_"I'm still enchanted by the light you brought to me._

_I listen through your ears_

_through your eyes I can see._

_…I wasn't jumping_

_for me it was a fall._

_it's a long way down to nothing_

_at all."_ – Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out of, U2

* * *

 

The room was empty. Bare. But Leo stood in the center of it with shoulders hunched and head tipped slightly to one side - as though trying to recall what last item he'd forgotten to pack away. A duffle was slung over one shoulder, packed full, in one hand, his tatami mat, rolled tight.

The last of his personal possessions to be removed.

He remained like that, perhaps bidding his childhood sanctuary and (too often) solitary confinement a last moment of respect before turning away. He avoided Raph's gaze as he swept from the space, barely brushing by as he exited. Leaving Raph hovering in the doorway wondering at the smallness of it.

Glassy eyes lined with red took in the cracked walls, the low celling marred with water stains and exposed pipe, the ghostly outline of the mat where his brother spent his time meditating, planning; centering himself against the weight of his duty, against the weight of his responsibilities to his family, his father. Finding what escape he could inside his mind. A place no one could follow.

And now he was leaving them, physically, for good.

Raph stood there, and couldn't comprehend how such a tiny room had held such an enormous spirit.

But that was for later.

When he'd slip inside in the dead of the night, to kneel in the same spot as his brother had, all those years, to gather what he could of his memories of his idol. To reach with fingertips trembling and stroke, feather-light, the dusty cement.

At this moment, there was only the pulsing rage and the incessant gnawing of betrayal that colored the edges of the world in thunderstorm black. That turned the taste of food to gritty bland lumps and drained all notions of peace, happiness, and comfort away. And in his mind the words in a mobius strip, turning round and round upon itself like a snake devouring itself by the tail-end:

_How can you do this? How can you do this? How can you do this?_

He turned and followed his brother, stepping quick to catch up to his shadow, making no effort to hide his stomping footsteps.

Leo ignored him, as if anticipating such a reaction from his brother, but having no patience for it. Not now. He had to get to the docks where the ship lay waiting for him as well as the woman he loved.

Everything that had been said, had been said the night before. When everyone gathered to give well-wishes and hearty embraces. To say farewell. To joke and tease with tear-filled eyes. To say what was left to say before the distance and time carved an incalculable expanse between what should have never been sundered.

Raphael did not participate. He had better things to do.

And now the lair was empty. No witnesses to note the speedy exit and the pursuing sibling. Perhaps there was a note of finality in the air or warning. To stay away, this dark morning. Find other things to distract yourself with. The one we all adored and looked up to is, at last, leaving us. There is only pain here.

Leonardo fled up the rungs of the ladder to the surface, blending with the shadows above even as his apprehension filled the air behind him like some ghostly manifestation. Raph erupted through it, only subconsciously registering the taint in the air of his brother's anxiety, and if he had paused for but a moment to consider, it would have made him sorry for being the source of such dread for someone he loved too dearly. But like in the heat of battle, there was no time to weigh and wonder, only to act.

Leo would not leave them scarred and hurting and get away with it. Not if he could help it.

And the words became a mantra, thundering against the walls of his skull.

_HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?! HOW COULD YOU!?_

His arm shot out and his hand gripped his brother's shoulder, halting him and spinning him roughly around.

Leo offered no resistance.

And the resignation in his eyes somewhat doused the fire of Raphael's words before they spilled from his mouth, leaving only the bitterness of ash upon his tongue.

#

The brick snicked against the others as he dragged it from the heap. Fingers splayed wide, his knuckles whitened with the effort of pulling it close. All the strength he'd had earlier seemed to have been sapped by the dampness of this place, the spot where Mikey had found him all those years ago, where Leo had slipped aboard a vessel with Karai and had left them all behind.

Or perhaps the confrontation with his brother earlier had been the final straw – no, not the confrontation itself, but the revelation he'd seen in Donatello's eyes – the grim satisfaction of having known all along what Raph had always suspected of himself.

The worst of them had at long last proved himself to be just that – something he'd always suspected Leonardo believed, if secretly, about him. He was a monster, an evil aberration, an absolute loser. No need for any further evidence. No reason to fight against that unspoken epitaph any longer. What was the use? You could not defeat reality.

Raphael sniffled as new tears welled and spilled freely over his face. He disgusted himself. Deserved no pity. For the betrayal he'd acted upon this evening, he deserved only his family's revulsion and dismissal, if not worse.

There was nothing he could do for atonement. It was far too late for that. There was no going back, not to them, not to her. He couldn't face them, couldn't face what they'd demand of him. He couldn't.

To lose her would drive him further into insanity. To keep her . . . He stared at the brick through glassy eyes.

It was wrong. All wrong. On so many levels, wrong. But he'd fallen for KoKoa. Hard. No denying what his old heart insisted.

And instead of being strong and resisting, he crumbled. Instead of honoring his brother's memory, he dismantled and mangled it. With his own bare hands, with the heat of his heaving body, with the ugly force of his lust, he destroyed it. As he did with everything good in his world, everything he cherished.

The voice that arose before him was gentle and held a hint of amused exasperation, as so often it did, before.  _'Raph.'_

 _No_ , Raphael thought.

He shook his head and clamped his eyes shut tight just as the apparition took shape at the edge of his vision. It wasn't real, but he couldn't help but speak out loud to it, "I don't want to hear it, not from you, not from no one. I'm sick. Diseased. What I did to KoKoa . . ." he choked and broke into a dry sob, shoulders heaving as he fought against the tide of emotions wrenching him further from the edge of reason.

It only proved that his was a weakness born out of spirit, mind and body. A cancer within that he could never cure. Not without severing something critical from himself. Not without a cost too high to pay. He'd known all along it would come to this. It was only a matter of time. He'd run for so long from the truth. Fought hard against the inevitable.

But tonight there was no other choice. His debt had come due. And it was a steep one. He would resist no longer.

Gathering himself with a shuddering gasp, he shook his head and said, "What else can I do? She'll never forgive me."

Against the pylons, the murky waves lapped a rhythm that lulled him into a near-stupor. Reflecting light from the shore, the water rippled in wavering white lines above and all around him, giving the place an unsteady, wobbling, otherworldly feel.

It matched the surreal nature of his business there.

The smell of brine and decaying fish hung in the air, creating an odd mix of cloying richness and brisk freshness. The sharp convergence of life's beginning and its end. It permeated through the wood of the covered dock where Raphael crouched, staring at the brick in his hands as if he'd never seen it before, wondering where it came from.

The apparition flickered, catching the light from the waves and Raphael glanced at it, then quickly away. "'m sorry." A line of spittle dribbled from his swollen bottom lip, dancing as he muttered it again, then over and over again. And it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

The lonely toll of some distant bell rang out and startled him. Ignoring the phantom of his long dead brother sitting before him, trembling in and out of focus within the caging rays of rippling light, he went back to work, stacking the brick on top of the pile within the bag between his knees.

_'There's no point to this.'_

Raphael nodded. "Yeah, bro. There's a point. It has to weigh enough. To pull me down and keep me there," he mumbled, wiping at his still-bleeding mouth. "Gotta do somethin' right," he wheezed between broken breaths.

He tied the handles of the plastic bag, full of bricks, into a knot, looping the end of the thick rope beneath and knotting that tight. The other end of the rope lead to his neck. He peered from his blackened eyes at the two other bags, filled and tied in a similar fashion, connected to ropes binding each wrist.

He sat there, eyes growing unfocused, listing to the lap of the waves, the vague sounds of the city beyond. Ignoring the presence of his dead brother, but feeling him there as real as his own aching limbs. The memories rose and fell in tandem with the melody of the water.

#

He threw the fist without preamble. And Leo allowed it to connect.

His head snapped back and he faltered several steps before going down on his bottom.

Raphael towered over him. "Get up."

Leonardo rose up onto his elbow. The strap of his back limped from his shoulder as he shrugged it free. He climbed to his feet without moving to wipe at his cheek. The next blow snapped his head to one side and staggered him back, but he maintained his balance.

Raph closed in on him. A freight train. Furious. Unstoppable. He cocked his fist. Struck Leo square in the face. It dropped him. If Leo's lack of resistance came as a surprise to Raphael, he didn't show it. He paced and growled, swearing.

Leonardo rolled to one side and shook his head. He blinked hard a few times and shook his head again. Blood sprayed from between his lips and he spat.

"You make me sick," Raph said. He stalked around to get into Leo's line of vision. "You hear me?"

Leo nodded, complying as he made a clumsy attempt to right himself. He swayed, but managed to sit upright, cupping the side of his face and wincing slightly. It had already turned a deep purple and the flesh just above his right eye was swelling.

Raph swore and turned in a circle. He dropped into a crouch. "You never cared about us," Raph said, watching Leo intently, looking for any reaction other than the bland, pliant expression on his face that only served to twist his anger tighter.

Leo stared at him.

He voiced the words, "How could you do this? How can you just leave?"

Leo said nothing, giving him a chance to say whatever else he needed to.

"You never," Raph's voice caught and he looked away. His gaze snapped back. There was in his eyes a glimmer of something like panic, melting back to reveal a vulnerability that Raphael would deny existed within his soul. "No matter what I say to you, you're not gonna –"

Leonardo was already shaking his head.

Raph's mouth closed and pressed into a grim line. He ran a hand over his face and laughed, bitterly. "Nah. Why would you?" Raph looked away. "You fuckin' traitor."

If he'd had looked in that instant, he would have seen Leo flinch. Would have registered what that flippant taunt said in anger had cost Leonardo.

He smacked his thighs, straightened up and reached down to offer his hand to Leonardo, who after a moment, took it. Raphael heaved him up to stand with a grunt. Without letting go of his brother's hand, Raphael yanked on it, pulling him close until their faces were but an inch away from one another.

"Go on and leave. It don't make no difference to me."

Leo made to move, but Raph held him tightly, "You're nothing to me."

Leonardo's eyes dropped.

"Do me a favor."

Slowly, Leo raised his eyes to meet Raphael's.

"Don't come back."

With that, he shoved Leonardo away, turned his back and stormed away without a glance back.

#

Raphael rested his hand on top of the bulging bag of bricks. He looked up and stared at the imagined specter of his brother.

"I never got it right."

Leonardo, the ghost of him, the hallucination or whatever it was, gazed at him, with eyes that held no judgement, no guile, only the steady, patient strength that gave Raphael the courage to go on.

"Saying I love you."

The ghost said nothing.

"But I did." Raphael choked, doing everything he could to maintain eye contact with the faded hallucination. "And I do. Love you."

Raphael shook his head, and whispered, "Always will, big brother."

They sat for another minute, not speaking, having nothing more to say, as the night gave way in the east to the first lavender-laced with gold rays. The promise of a new day.

Raphael sniffed and swallowed roughly; he nodded to himself as if he'd made the last of his peace and was satisfied. "Okay. See you on the other side."

He lumbered to stand, awkwardly gathering two of the bags in one arm. The ghost remained. Watching him as he inched over to the end of the dock, dragging the bag tied to his left arm along the wooden planks.

_'She needs you.'_

Raph paused. He heaved a great sigh and shook his head with a hollow laugh. "Now I'm sure you're nothing but my own head messin' with me. 'Cuz you're only saying what I want to hear."

_'It doesn't matter when it's true.'_

"Yeah, well," his battered face twisted into a wry smile. "I think I've done enough damage for one lifetime."

He turned and began to lower the bags towards the foaming wave below, twisting slightly to heave it out beyond the nearest pylon, where the water would be deep enough to hide his body until the fish and time ate away everything but what might become, one day, a superstitious curiosity if found, and nothing more.

_'Remember what I said to you?'_

Raphael froze.

_'As you walked away.'_

Raphael's body stiffened as the memory crawled its way back to the surface of his mind.

#

Leonardo's voice, only slightly muffled from the battering it took, called out to him. He paused at the edge of the opening of the sewer, listening with every inch of his body, fighting the urge to turn around and run to him, to embrace Leo and spill his guts about how sorry he was. How his leaving was killing him. Slowly, inch by inch. Erasing everything good from his life. But he remained, shell to Leo, as if he couldn't care less for what Leo had to say.

"Listen," he started, voice tight. "It's okay, Raph. I . . . I understand. And I'm sorry. I know you're angry and I'm pretty sure I'd be feeling exactly how you are if our roles were reversed."

Raphael rolled his eyes, but didn't move.

"But, please . . . it's our - my - only chance at something like happiness. And I hope one day, you can have it, too. Like what we used to talk about. On our runs. Remember?"

Raphael shook his head, scarcely moving so Leo wouldn't see him react to his words.

"I want that for you. That happiness. More than anything. I wish I could just give you what I have. But I can't. Raph. I can't."

Raphael closed his eyes. Felt the sting of tears. The squeezing pain of his heart being crushed.

"So, be angry with me. It's all right. But right now, I have to go. I have to. I'm sorry. I'll come back when I can. When it's safe. I promise."

Raphael shook his head and moved to drop into the opening, not wanting to hear anything else his brother had to say.

"Take care of yourself."

He dropped into the darkness, chased by Leonardo's final softly spoken remark, almost missed. But seared into his memory, forever.

#

The apparition repeated it again,  _'I love you, bro.'_

Raphael hugged the bag of bricks to his chest, shaking where he stood. His head dropped back as he let loose a cry. A wail of anguish and loss, of regret and sorrow. A damn breaking built of misused, botched years of living a half-life. Roaming aimlessly, recklessly, with the delirious confusion of one who'd lost the compass of their life, only to have been brought back home by the bewildering light of an unexpected love.

A voice cut through his howl. One filled with utter fright.  _"Raph! Stop!"_

He froze and turned a look of shocked incomprehension upon his little brother just before he was tackled and thrown to the side. Their bodies struck the planks with a crash. The wood splintered beneath them.

Raphael gave a pained shout as his ribs snapped under the weight of the bags of bricks and his brother; no lightweight in his middle-aged years. Hands pawed at him and then a flash of light as he was slapped not once but twice.

Fury, familiar and welcome, washed through him. He bucked and scrambled, knocking the bricks away, flailing against the tangled ropes in order to take a swing at Michelangelo.

Before he could, Raph was slapped once more. His growl turned into a roar and finally, he was able to throw Mikey from his torso. Mikey rolled and came up to a crouch, panting.

Raphael fumbled to sit up, still tangled in the mess of ropes, surrounded by bricks and plastic. "What the hell you doin'!?" Raph hollered, face burning beneath the throbbing ache from his earlier injuries. Grabbing at his side to cup the source of radiating pain in his ribcage.

"I could ask the same thing!" Mikey screamed, gesturing wildly at the bindings around his neck and wrists. "What the hell, man! What the actual  _hell_!?"

Raphael, chest heaving and shaking with a jolt for every breath brought a sudden spear of agony from his broken rib, slumped back. All the fight gone out of him.

Mikey gasped and made a frustrated sound as his punched the wooden planks on either side of him. "Why would you," Mikey choked and started again. This time, his voice rang out hoarse and full of fury, standing out above it all, the plain hurt, " _How could you do this?_ "

Raphael started at the achingly familiar question. He sat stunned. Unable to speak. Unable to answer.

From the corner of his eye, Raphael saw someone else running down the length of the dock. She ran, breathless, only to stop suddenly and to stand next to Mikey, who brought his arm up to halt her from getting any closer. His aching heart squeezed and tumbled.

KoKoa.

Over her shoulders, his leather coat.

Raph ducked his head, covered his face, seared by humiliation and shame.

Her voice was shrill with fright. "Oh my fucking god. What –"

"Go away. Mikey, get her outa here!"

KoKoa and Mikey exchanged looks.

"Will you get the fuck outa' here?!"

KoKoa scrambled around Mikey, out of his reach as he tried to stop her. "Wait, KoKo." She dashed to Raph's side, hesitating at the last second before falling to her knees next to him.

"You heard me!"

He jerked to one side, but didn't get far as his rib poked him, stopping his motion, making him grunt in pain. He shook his head and tried to shove her hands away. Gasping painfully and suddenly feeling the years weighing upon him. The emotional toll of the night. His struggling grew ineffectual and half-hearted.

Avoiding his weak efforts, KoKoa caught his hand and cradled it against her torso. "Stay still. Let me get this."

Raph fell still as ordered. She went to work untying the knot at his wrist, huffing and struggling at the bulk of it.

Mikey fell silent watching them as the dull horror of what he nearly witnessed faded back to a shadow in his mind like that of a particularly disturbing nightmare come the dawn. He knew what his brother was capable of – this wasn't the first time. But had it ever gotten so close? He shuddered and pinched his eyes closed.

When would his brothers stop torturing themselves?

A lump formed in his throat. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He shuddered.

The crazy showdown with Don and April back at the house, the frantic search; speeding down the alleys, doing his best not to let his panic show, hoping that he could keep KoKoa from leaping from the back of his motorcycle at the slightest sign of his brother and getting herself killed; only at the last minute realizing that there might be one place that Raphael would go to in his darkest moment and that thought alone cinching his stomach and making him feel on the brink of a heart attack . . . Finding him about to . . . to . . . to . . . Mikey groaned.

It was too much. How could he be expected to watch over them, still? Alone? He was getting too old for this. Forget over-eating and the errant gang member, his family was going to end up killing him. The fallout from this alone was going to take its toll on his brother. He'd have to be on emergency watch for the next few weeks if not longer.

 _I can't do this anymore,_  he thought desperately.

With that, his eyes opened and fell on his niece. He watched Kokoa as she slowly managed to undo the rope at his brother's wrist – the sight of which made Mikey nauseas - pulling it free with a gasp of irritation and triumph.

Mikey blinked blearily and felt his heart warm towards her. This tiny mutant woman – this hot-headed, snarky, kind-hearted, young, stubborn, loyal-to-a-fault, impossible miracle of a girl.

How she loved his brother – despite everything. And how Michelangelo loved her for it. Dearly.

Maybe he would not be alone in helping his brother recover. Maybe, at last, Raphael would have someone all to himself to watch over him.

Raphael peered out from under his hand to look at her, finally surrendering it to her insistent prodding. Quietly, voice rough from exertion and emotion, he asked, "What are you doing here, KoKoa?"

She shook her head and though she tried to keep her face lowered, he could make out the tears dancing in her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

Raphael watched as her fingers plied and worked until the knot uncoiled and the rope fell limp to one side. Hesitantly, she lifted her fingertips, raw from the roughness of the rope, to his neck. Slowly, he raised his chin and she set to untying the knot at the base of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"You shouldn't've come," he murmured.

With heavy lidded eyes, he watched the tears now spilling down her face. With his heart fracturing at the sight, he couldn't stop himself, "What's with the waterworks? Someone die?"

"I hate you," she whispered, voice catching.

The rope fell away and they sat, facing one another. KoKoa's eyes askance, but Raph's never leaving her face.

"I don't deserve," he croaked, "anythin' from you. Not after . . ." He couldn't finish and felt even more the coward for it.

The weight of the ropes falling away was replaced with a terrible exhaustion. If he were to close his eyes now, he would never awaken again. He was tempted. Sorely. But for one thing.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She shook her head.

"KoKo," he insisted, voice thick, close to being unable to speak, but with effort, he managed. "I don't expect forgiveness, but you gotta know. I'm so sorry for . . . for hurting you."

Teeth gritted, she ground the words out. Annunciating each and every syllable so as not to be mistaken. "You didn't. Hurt me. You never. Hurt me. You could never hurt me, unless," she reached down and gripped the ends of the rope in each hand and held them up to him.

Her eyes flashed as they raised to meet his own and the breath was stolen from him.

KoKoa's blue eyes, so like her father's, were nothing like at all like his, now, as she sat, looking at him, into him and seeing him as no one had ever done before. They were startling and clear, glassy with tears, ferocious in their integrity, near too brilliant to remain locked on, but he could not tear his gaze away.

They were both familiar and completely new. He was home and scattered to the horizon of all possibilities. Enthralled, flayed and laid bare. Open and helpless to her judgement. Free.

He trembled and was speechless. Lost. Discovered. Rescued and pulled to shore. Home.

"If I lost you,  _now_  . . ." Her entire body quaked before it went still again. "Don't you ever –"

He shook his head.

"Ever again."

He nodded.

"Promise me."

His mouth worked, only air came out. What could he say? What vow could he make that he wouldn't someday inevitably break?

"Raphael, if you love me - promise me."

He froze, and whispered immediately, vowing with all the strength that remained within his ancient heart, "I promise."

KoKoa dropped the rope ends and lurched forward. He caught her in his arms and buried his face into her neck. His jacket fell away. The two of them rocked and shook where they sat, embraced in each other's arms, sheltered by the fragile, impossible hope – a small, thin chance - one taken only by the very innocent and the very broken.

A chance at happiness. A chance at love.

Shaken, Mikey sat back. He wiped at his eyes. He glanced away, giving his brother a semblance of privacy. He started, did a double take and blinked hard.

For a heart-stopping instant, he thought he saw his deceased brother, Leonardo, there, real as his own heartbeat hammering against his ribs, sitting next to him.

Smiling softly with Karai's arm draped around him, her head resting on his shoulder. Leo's gaze swept to meet Mikey's. Real as his heartbeat stopping in his chest.

Mikey gaped. He felt the world dip. A roller coaster tip and roll, making his heart race and his stomach flip. A bubble of laughter, something like relief, escaped from his lips.

The illusion or vision of his brother and his sister-in-law vanished.

The sound of his uneasy reaction echoed softly against the sound of the waves below, but loud enough to startled and interrupt Raphael and KoKoa from murmuring to one another all the promises that lovers, on the brink of losing one another only to find themselves right back where they belong, exchange.

They released each other, turned and looked at him, both blinking away tears, faces puffy from crying and Raph's from the beating he withstood, each with a searching expression. An unasked question. One that felt like seeking permission or absolution. Or both.

Bolstered by the strange apparition, the odd sense of divine sanction, of authority granted tingling across his bare flesh, Mikey said, an unsteady smile growing on his face, "It's okay. It's good."

He nodded and sniffed. Feeling better by the second. Relieved and something like happy, near-giddy.

"Yeah. KoKo . . . Raph," he looked at each of them in turn. "I think . . . it's going to be okay."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for taking this ride with me. A long one in the making, but I hope, one that was worth taking.
> 
> This story became something more personal to me than I ever imagined. I thank you with all my heart for all the support and especially your patience.
> 
> There may be an epilogue to this, may not...I'm sort of a sucker for them, so don't be surprised if I give you one last glimpse into this world before I say goodbye.
> 
> One last note: Remember that the 2015 stealthy stories fanfiction competition is getting under way - I believe the date for nominations to be turned in is Feb 10th, but all the info is on the website. This story would not be eligible due to adult content, but that's okay. :) There's a ton of wonderful stories out there that deserve the attention! Please consider participating!


	11. Flying Home (Epilogue)

"But if you'd hold my hand and we'd look to the sky  
I think that there's a chance we can once again feel alive.

...

But if the sun comes up inside your mind  
Then we could make it home just in time  
To see a moon lit loft taking flight  
And then to the life we once knew would collide." –In a Different Time, JBM

* * *

 

 

The truck rumbled along the dirt road, bumping side to side. The only sound came from the tires rolling along the rough-furrowed surface. The radio was switched off. Neither was in the mood for music or conversation.

They'd spent the entirety of the four-hour ride mostly in silence, each too engrossed in the emotional weight of the circumstances which propelled them upstate. Each wrestling with their own consciences. Their regrets. And fears.

April glanced aside at Donatello; his head down, bowed over his lap, working on a small piece of machinery that did god-knows-what. A ghost of a smile passed across her lips. Anything to keep his mind busy. To keep distracted. To quietly put distance between himself and the unfortunate topic of conversation. Between them. She could hear his gentle admonishing in her mind, so often spoken to her over the years and now, much more often: _Can't talk now, super busy. Can it wait 'til tomorrow? Really, I'm just swamped. Not now. Later. Please, April, I'm working._

In his mouth were several delicate tools. Pinched between his thighs was a large piece of wax paper where tiny screws and washers bounced. He removed a slim, pointed screwdriver from between his lips.

Her mouth opened only for her to close it again without a word as he shifted slightly in his seat. The tilt of his head purposely angled to keep from eying her. She sighed.  _Fine._

They drove on.

The sunlight glowed rosy through the late summer foliage, tinting the spreading scenery shades of copper. The goldenrod and wild sunflowers rippled, tipping their bronze and brown faces as breezes raced over the hills. In the distant canopy there was a touch of amber. A hint of autumn's approach. The signaling of the coming end of the bountiful, easy season. The shadow of leaner, harder times encroaching just beyond. Dark thoughts circled the back of her mind. Stalking her stoicism. Gnawing at her brave façade.

Chilled, April shivered. Donatello did not notice.

The turnoff came up and April pulled right into the lane. The movement sharp, jostling them, as she nearly missed it – having not come up here in too many years to count. Or maybe it was just because it was so hard to see with the tears standing stubbornly in her eyes. Welling, burning, but never spilling. Not if she could help it.

Donatello jerked and hissed softly in pain. Cursing under his breath just before he stuck his thumb into his mouth.

"You okay?" she asked with a glance.

He nodded, sucked, pulled the thumb out; examined it with a grimace. "It's fine."

"Oh. We're just about there."

"What? Already?"

He turned his gaze out of the window, took a look at the surroundings and then gathered up his mini project by crumpling the wax paper into a ball and tossing it down between his feet.

April's brows raised.

He rubbed his thumb and crossed his arms.

"Don," April started in a coaxing tone, unable to help herself, "try not to . . ."

"To what?" he asked, and it was more of a snap than a question.

She sighed hard through her nose.

They'd been over this. A week ago, when they first got the crumpled letter from Casey. The edges of it worried into ripples and parts thinned where he'd erased and started over. It was a letter not easily conceived, one that carried the evidence of the weight of its contents in smears, wrinkles and over-thought, written and rewritten words.

They'd been over this since then so many times she was sick of the subject, but she couldn't afford to trust. Not in him. Not in anything. There was so much at stake here. An entire future. Good or bad. He could ruin everything. And how she loved her husband, with everything in her heart, but he was as stubborn as they come. Even more so.

And when hurt, he held a grudge longer than anyone else she'd ever known.

She pressed it, because she had to. As a mother who hadn't seen her daughter in too terribly long, until the ache was a real thing, right between her breasts, constant and squeezing; as a friend who'd lost too much over the years – about to lose incalculably more; as the one who had to always keep the family, broken as it might seem, together.

"Almost two years, Donnie." She glanced at him. He avoided her eyes. Looked away. "I can't risk losing her. Not now. Not with . . . She needs me. Us."

"I know," he muttered.

"Could you just," she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, struggling. "I know things are strained. Considering . . . everything with-with –" It was no use. She choked it out. "Raphael."

He tensed at his brother's name.

She braced for a fight.

Instead, she saw him surrender. In the softening of his shoulders, the slight dropping of his chin. The news had changed him. By increments, by barely measurable degrees. It had changed him.

"I'm not going to cause any trouble," he said quietly, not meeting her eye, but staring out the window as the roofline of the farmhouse loomed up ahead.

They pulled up near the front of the farmhouse, just off to one side, close enough to see Casey rolling his chair down the ramp to greet them. Nothing much had changed besides the jet-black hair having gone completely silver and an injury a few years back that had nearly killed him. One that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Gray and grizzled, but still broad in the shoulders like an old bear, he sat grinning ear-to-ear with a smile that was as sincere as a sunrise.

"Hey! Wow, you guys made great time," he called out, wheeling through the gravel, leaning forward and punching the side of the truck admiringly.

"Hello, Casey. How are you?"

"Donnie!" he greeted as the old turtle climbed out. "Oh no, man, you let _April_ drive? You are a brave sonofabitch, you know that?" He barked out a hoarse laugh, crinkling up the corners of his eyes into a riot of wrinkles, only to dissolve into harsh coughing.

April moved around the front of the truck as Donatello shook Casey's hand once the coughing fit subsided. She bent and gave him a hug. A quick peck on his bristly cheek.

"Aw, nice." He shrugged back into his chair, squinting up at her. "Nice to see you, Ape. Nice to see you both," he said, eyes twinkling as he gazed up at them. Taking them in. Casey shook his head. "Man, haven't seen either of you in," he sniffed and shook his head with a laugh, "too long. You know what? You guys looks great. A little tired, but yeah, great."

April opened her mouth to ask about Michelangelo. If he'd been contacted. If he knew anything, but, behind Casey, the screen door squeaked and KoKoa crept out onto the wrap-around porch.

April straightened up and Donatello stiffened.

She was dressed in denim overalls straining slightly at the middle with a white t-shirt beneath. Her complexion looked healthy, but even from where April stood she could tell the girl had been crying, hard and recently.

KoKoa took a step forward, leaned against the post and gave a half-hearted wave to them all in general. "Hey," she called out meekly. Then pointed behind her in an off-hand way, "There's, uh, iced tea and some oatmeal cookies in the kitchen."

Neither April nor Donatello moved.

Casey worked his chair around. "Hot damn, sounds like breakfast to me!" He started to roll away when April started from her daze and moved around him to the stairs, leaving Donatello to assist Casey up the ramp.

She heard Casey say to Don as she dashed by them, "You gotta hook me up with some off-road treads. Or maybe like some kind of nitro on this thing."

At the top of the steps, April reached out for KoKoa. There was an awkward moment before the girl leaned in and they embraced. April thought she felt thin, considering. And as she held her daughter, April thought the tears might finally spill free. Instead, she felt the girl tremble and her resolve to appear strong redoubled.

"It's okay, honey," April murmured.

KoKoa jerked away and, wiping at her eyes, moved to allow Casey to come up to the porch. As he did, she hurried into the kitchen, holding open the door without looking in Donatello's direction. They went inside. April took in a shaky breath and followed them.

KoKoa was only in the kitchen for a second before slipping from the room, to the staircase, muttering something about letting him know they'd arrived. April watched her go, stepping from the kitchen to the dividing hallway between that and the living room, feeling torn, wanting to follow, but deciding at last that she would probably like a moment of alone time with Raphael to prep him for the visit.

She turned and noticed that the living room had been converted into something of a bedroom. Things were untidy but not terribly so. In one corner was the familiar hockey bag, hanging limp and full, unused in so long. Dust motes twirled in the air through shafts of narrow light coming in from between the drawn blinds. Casey's coughing brought her back into the kitchen.

Don was standing in front of the sink, staring out across the front yard.

April moved to the cabinets and looked for a glass. She held it aloft towards Casey. "Lemonade?"

Casey raised a hand, refusing. He grunted and reached alongside his hip. From the crevice of his seat, he pulled out a flask, unscrewed the top and took a long, deep drag. He wiped his mouth, and recapped it, throwing April a wink.

April rolled her eyes but returned an indulging smile as she poured herself a glass of lemonade. She slid into a chair, resting her forehand against the heel of one hand. "So," she began.

Donatello turned his head and then slowly moved his body to face them, leaning his aching hip against the counter with his arms crossed.

"So, yeah," Casey coughed. He fingered the top of the flask and raised his eyes to sweep them from April to Donatello and back again. "Well, like I said in my letter, it's pretty bad. Uh, really bad. Actually." His face lost some of the ruddiness, leaving it shadowed, gaunt. His eyes, hollow and haunted. All the boisterousness was gone from his voice, drained away. Leaving it thin. Barely above a whisper.

"As bad as it gets."

For a span of heartbeats, the room fell still as the worst fears of the occupants were once again justified. Reinforced.

April whispered, "Why didn't you contact us sooner?"

Casey scratched at the side of his jaw and looked chagrined. Something of his school-boy charm still held despite the years. He shrugged. "I wanted to," he said. He glanced at Don. "Right when they first came up, about six months ago. I wanted to. I fought him about it. You know? Especially when I found out about KoKoa and the –"

Something in Donatello's face made him falter. He cleared his throat. "But Raph," he said, trailing off. His face twisting with something like bitterness, morphing at last into a contemplative grin. Softly, he added, "You know how he gets."

"You should have contacted us sooner," Donatello said, but there was no conviction in his tone, no real anger, only that sodden resignation that had taken up residence ever since they'd gotten the news last week.

They sat in silence.

"I want to see him."

April and Casey looked up at him in unison.

At that moment, KoKoa reappeared at the edge of the room. Addressing Casey, she said, "He's up."

Donatello made to move when Casey swung around. He braced one hand against the air between them. "Don't be surprised if he, uh, doesn't know you. At first, or, not at all, maybe."

Donatello stiffened and April made a soft sound of distress.

KoKoa jutted her chin, eyes lowered, speaking to the floor. "He's himself this morning. Better than he's been in weeks."

"Huh." Casey nodded. "Oh, good," he murmured. "That's good." Casey blinked suddenly wet eyes and raised them to April. "The last week or so, it's gotten," he choked and trailed off with a shake of his head.

KoKoa turned her head by inches to stare out the door into the front yard, steeling herself against the tension in the room. Her eyes glazed and face frozen in the stiff way one gets when hearing bad news and not ready to accept any of it. Or maybe to reject it, completely.

April's attention went back to Casey as he said, "He keeps talking out of his head. All of a sudden it's like he's in the middle of a conversation. Middle of the night, sometimes."

Donatello's attention sharpened.

"What does he say?" April asked as if reading her husband's mind, surprised at the evenness of her voice.

Casey's expression softened. "Leo."

Donatello's eyes dropped, his complexion paling to a soft gray, but made no sound.

"Yeah, talking to Leo, like he's right in the room with him."

April covered her mouth, felt her eyes burning. Listening with her heart hammering. Knowing what this might be doing to her husband.

With a grim expression, Donatello moved past them all without a word towards the staircase. KoKoa shifted away so as not to brush against him as he exited the room. Not giving him the slightest glance.

Head swimming with the information Casey had provided, Donatello paused. His hand gripped the top of the worn Newel post for balance as his eyes swept the room to his left and settled on what looked like a handmade crib.

The room tilted and his mouth grew dry. The floor swayed and he staggered, leaning on the rail for balance, glad to have gripped the post a moment before. He'd known, since the letter. He'd suspected for longer. Seeing the crib, though. Seeing it was something different. He sucked in a breath and faced the blurred and doubling stairs ahead of him. With some effort he raised his foot and pushed himself, step at a time, up to the second floor.

The hallway loomed, distorted in the dim rays of light, swirling and fogged with dust motes. He made it, somehow, down the impossible length of it to the door sitting partially open. He placed splayed fingers against the panel and pushed. It swung open to a small bedroom, narrow and sparsely furnished. A wardrobe rested in one corner, a short stool near one of the open doors, one the floor: a few rags, bottles of medicine and a flashlight. There was a wide window that took up most of the opposite wall, curtains drawn, blocking most of the light.

His eyes crawled to the bed. Up the tattered edges of the quilts to the jaundiced, sunken figure who could not, not in a million years, not in any possibility of the imagination, not in any way, be his strong, willful, imposing brother. This was an impostor. A fake. 

Glittering eyes peered at him from a drawn, haggard face.

Casey's words returned to him then and filled him with renewed dread: _"Don't be surprised if he, uh, doesn't know you. At first, or, not at all, maybe."_

But even in the dimness, through the haze of illness and cutting a path through the more dominating press of death's sulking presence, there was, in those eyes, firmly and without a doubt, his brother.

Donatello, bolstered by this, straightened and crossed the room on mostly wobble-free legs. He came up and stood a moment next to the bed, near his brother's arm laying limp on the coverlet, before reaching and flipping through the stack of papers and books on the nightstand adjacent to the bed. He scanned the information. Print-outs from medical sites. Dozens. Pages and pages of printed documents as if the person who'd searched this information out and printed these would somehow find a way out of the situation. An impossible hope, a way towards a cure by arming themselves with knowledge.

Useless.

Donatello dropped the papers. He jumped as something cool brushed his wrist. He turned to see Raphael's fingers fumbling against him until he turned his hand and then felt his brother grip him with surprising force.

"Donnie," Raph rasped. He shuddered with the effort to speak. "You come . . . all this way . . . to give me a checkup?" Raph squeezed his hand, but did not let go. "What's the . . . outlook, doc? 50/50?"

Donatello finally looked down to see a sardonic grin spread across his brother's face.

"I'll take . . . those odds."

He was surprised to feel angry. Surprised to find his hands balling into fists as if he were about to pummel his sickly brother, his _dying_ brother. But as Raphael's grin turned into a huff of a laugh, it morphed into a violent choking and Donatello felt only a sodden helplessness.

The strength of his legs gave out and he sat heavily onto the bedside, making the springs squawk. He stared at Raph. Watching him squirm and jerk in pain as the fit passed into a wet, drowning gurgle. Slowly, his other hand covered the top of his brother's. He found himself unable to speak as if the unfairness of everything had strangled the ability to talk right from his throat.

As Raphael sat back, blood coated his bottom lip and chin, spattered the coverlet. And that's when Donatello saw the bundles of tissues with the rust-colored stains, the mottled blots and larger spots along the pillow and the edge of the blanket. And that's when the words of Casey's letter came back. And all their terrible, finality. Raph, his brother.

The brother he'd maligned at every turn. The focus of all the bitterness, all his jealousy, all his life.

His brother, whose only crime was being who he could only ever be.

Donatello looked up, eyes glistening, wide and full of apologies. "I can't fix this." The words seem to belong to someone else. Someone speaking to someone else. How could this be real? How could they have come to this point when so much was left raw and unfinished, ugly and broken between them?

And yet, they came again, dropping from his lips like some ridiculous disclaimer, "I can't fix this."

Raphael settled back, sinking into the stained pillows, and still did not release Donatello's hand. The ends of his mouth turned down. "I know."

Donatello shook his head, helplessly.

"It's okay."

Donatello dragged his gaze from his brother and stared at the wall behind the bed. There was nothing okay in this. Not in any of this. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He considered the question and finally asked, "Why?" Raphael shifted and grimaced, fighting back another fit of coughing, making rough puffing sounds that sound more painful than the earlier fit to Donatello.

He raised his hand from Raphael's and rubbed his face, surprised to find it wet. In a weak voice, he admitted, "I dunno." And he didn't. What could he have done? Nothing. Not for this. And once again, Donatello felt the odd-man out, the useless one, the one who would be left behind. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He closed his eyes and made a sound between a laugh and a sob. Once he started, he could not stop himself. There wasn't room for shame or dignity or anything but the overwhelming crush of sorrow. For his brother. For himself. For everything lost.

With a tug, he was pulled to one side and enveloped into a bear hug. He stiffened, but didn't fight it. Realized he didn't want to.

With his eyes pinched tight, he returned the hug as best as he could, feeling his brother's shrunken body under him; Raphael's sobbing turn into more coughing, hearing the strain of his lungs, filled with fluids, rattling and wheezing, sounding like the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. He wanted to rewind the past two years and find a way to reconcile, to recapture what he had thrown away out of angry, spite, jealousy and hurt. He wanted to take back every rotten thing he'd said about Raphael, take back all the accusations and judgments. To start over.

But it was too late.

He felt himself sliding towards despair. The darkest pit in the far reaches of his reason. He could not halt the momentum of tumbling towards that emptiness, not knowing what he'd find within it, but knowing that once he entered, there would be no way out. The image of the crib downstairs flashed into his mind then and the falling feeling abruptly halted.

With Raphael, he had what was left. It wasn't much. It wasn't fair, but it was all he had. He could still try to make it right.

"Raphael," he said around his hiccuping, as he calmed himself and began to ease out of the loosening hold. "I'm going to . . . I mean to say . . . I'm-I'm sorry. For everything."

Raphael turned his face away, coughing into the pillow. Donatello sat watching him, shivering and shaken, sick and reeling. When it passed, the spreading crimson on the fabric remained.

He held up his hand, dismissing Donatello's words. "Don't," he croaked and swallowed, struggling. "It's all . . . in the past."

"No. Still. Listen. I was unfair to you. I was always," his words caught, his face twisted in fury and self-hatred, "such a bastard to you."

He was surprised to see Raphael grinning through the tears. "Nah." He shrugged. "Deserved it."

Donatello leaned in, gripping his brother's thin - god, so thin! - shoulder while the other hand still sat captured in Raphael's clasp. Their eyes met and Raphael grew serious, nearly sheepish under Donatello's intense stare.

"Never," Don wheezed. "You never did."

"Don," Raphael's words came forced between the strain of his breathing, "will you . . . forgive me?"

Donatello's eyes dropped closed. Fresh tears spilled. He nodded. His voice came out breaking, like a boy's, cracking over the syllables even as he stumbled over them. "Of course. Yes. If you can find it in yourself to forgive me."

He opened his eyes to see Raphael nodding, his lips formed the words he could not speak, too weak now, to even do that. Donatello brought his forehead to Raphael's and then sat back. He felt Raphael's fingers finally uncurl, releasing him. At last.

"I'll make things right. With KoKoa."

Raphael's gaze sharpened and focused on him, eyes bright and full of something like fragile hope.

"Nothing will happen to her or your . . . baby . . ."

"Boy," Raph said in a hoarse whisper.

"Your baby boy." Donatello said around a watery grin. He imagined he knew what the name of this child would most likely be. "I promise."

Raphael's wavering smile swept the years from his face, making him look young, and all the more vulnerable. He shook his head, unable to talk, but Donatello understood.

"Okay? Okay. Rest, now."

Raphael tipped his chin in agreement, looking suddenly exhausted, spent. He looked past Donatello, over his shoulder and for a moment, Donatello thought he saw his brother stiffen, eyes widening, a flash of something like fright come over his face. Don turned to look, but saw only the peeling wallpaper. Nothing more. When he turned back to Raph, his eyes were closed and sunken, breathing roughly, but breathing.

With a tiny mew creaking from the back of his throat, Donatello eased off the bed and backed out of the room. Outside the door, he reached out and braced himself against the opposite wall in the hallway, heaving and gasping, doing his best to compose himself.

* * *

 

Later, he found himself standing next to the crib, musing silently on what he'd wished he'd told Raph, going over and over in his mind what was actually said, what he'd seen on those printouts and what little time they had. A cup of coffee in his hand, the other, running gently across the smooth top of the side rail. It had been crafted beautifully. At the headboard, Donatello noticed the family clan's symbol had been carved delicately into the wood. This added detail was unexpected and moving. He never guessed that Casey was so good at woodworking.

"He made it," KoKoa said behind him. He never heard her approach. 

Donatello turned. "It's very nice. Solid." There was a beat of awkward silence that he felt the need to fill. He hadn't spoken to her in over two years and the only thing he could manage was, "I never knew Casey could build like this." He ducked his head. It wasn't what he wanted to say, not anywhere near where he wanted to begin. But it was something. For April. For Raphael. He would try until things were made right. And she was at least speaking to him. It was a start.

"Not Casey. Raph. Raph built that."

Donatello started. "What?"

"As soon as he found out."

He stood muted and oddly shamed. He remembered, then, how good Raph had always been at making things, building engines, welding, molding, and woodworking. It made sense, if one wasn't inclined to think only the worst of his brother.

"Congratulations," Donatello said quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

KoKoa eyed him suspiciously. One hand went to the bump in her middle.

"He said you're expecting a boy." He gave her, what he'd hoped, was an encouraging smile. "Naming him Leo, I assume."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Wrong again."

He frowned. "Oh?"

Standing as if reciting something from memory, she stated, "Don Leonardo Yoshi Hamato." She rolled her eyes again. "Sounds like a mobster or some kinda gangster to me. But," her face darkened, eyes clouding with sadness. "It's what he wants."

Donatello found himself speechless, leaning back, legs like jelly, the crib keeping him upright.

"Casey wanted me to tell you that Mikey's coming back up tomorrow – he left a day ago to get some more supplies for us from the city. He's been helping a lot."

Mikey. He knew. Hadn't said anything either. Donatello wondered how long he knew, but none of that mattered. Not really. He didn't blame them for not wanted to tell him anything. If April hadn't insisted he would have never even came up. He'd have held onto his pathetic grudge like a fool. Don pinched his eyes closed. Feeling ill.

She turned then and he only dimly heard her say she wanted to check on Raphael before she went to bed.

April stepped into the room then, pausing to give KoKoa a smile and a brush of her hand which KoKoa seemed to lean into. April's warm expression dropped as she spotted him. She hurried over.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. His mouth worked. "He's . . . naming . . ." Don trailed off. April ran her hand along his arm, down to his hand and gave it a squeeze. Donatello focused on her, eyes glassy. "Why do you love me?"

She started, her mouth broke into an astonished grin as she huffed a laugh. "What?"

"Why do you love me?"

She grew serious and studied his eyes, his face. "I love you because you're thoughtful, caring, intelligent, because you're always supportive, because you've never let me down. You've always did your best to be honorable."

"Have I?" he cut in, voice broken, on the verge of tears.

"Yes, Don." She brought her hand up to his cheek. He covered it with his own, looking sorrowful and guilty. Breaking her heart. "This isn't your fault," she whispered.

He hunched over and set his coffee cup down on an end table next to the crib, immediately falling into April's embrace. She held him against herself and shushed the quiet sounds of his distress.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered to him, over and over. Feeling her own tears threatening, but not spilling. Not yet. That would come later. For now, she had to stay strong.

And when the sharp, high wail of her daughter's grief flowed down the stairs like a waterfall made of all the sorrow in the world, making him jerk and go rigid with fright and anguish, she held him tighter and repeated herself again.

And again, keeping her tears held back, shoring up the last threads of her strength for her family. They were going to need someone to be there. To be strong. Again. It was her job, after all. It had always been that way, since the first time she'd met this amazing family. And she was honored to take the role.

* * *

 

The rooftop is bathed in steel blue with silver highlights. Bright and flashing, making it hard to focus, blurring his eyes as they tear-up. He isn't sure, but it feels as though he might have been crying. He's out of breath, as if he'd been running or sobbing. Blinking he turns in a half-circle, wondering for a moment at where he is, how he'd gotten there. He feels he's forgetting something terribly important. There is a muddled confusion, but no fear.

The sky in the east is growing a pale yellow, chasing the darkness back into the west with a trail of still sparkling stars winking in the expanse above. A warm breeze blows across his bare skin and leaves prickles in its wake.

Someone suddenly rushes by, tags him on the opposite shoulder. He spins around to just see his older brother leap across the wide span between the buildings, laughing. Laughing in a high young voice that he hadn't heard in years. Or so it seemed.

"Slow poke!" he taunts, rolling around on his heel after he lands all grace and sinewy youth, hands cupped around his mouth.

Raphael reaches out, dumbfounded at the ten or twelve year-old version of his brother. Stunned, he stands. One hand outstretched. Lost in his confusion. But a growing happiness suffuses him. Warms in him a coldness that he hadn't realized was there.

"Leonardo," he whispers and the wind steals his name, pulls it free from between his lips and smears it into the pastel clouds unfolding above him. "Am I dreaming?" he asks, but Leo doesn't hear the question or ignores it. And Raphael finds the question strange and dismisses it immediately. Of course he isn't dreaming. He's there, isn't he?

"Come on! What are you waiting for?" Leo calls, swinging his thin, boyish arm, just starting to show the muscle definition that will only become more prominent with the upcoming years of grueling training, but for now is reedy and thin, but steady, strong.

Raph steps forward, looks down to find his aged body gone. His hands, palms up, are plump and firm as they were when he was nine or ten himself, and any thought that he was ever old, infirmed or anything other than what he is right now seems like a dream fading. Fading away into where all things of no importance go. How silly to ever think he was anything than what he is right now. How strange.

He steps another step forward, finds himself now at the edge of the building he's standing on and looks down to multiple stories below, then up to the gaping expanse between them. Wondering how the hell his brother had made that jump, yet never doubting that of course Leo could do that.

He could do anything. Anything.

But Raph . . . he sidles back. He can't make it. He can't. He isn't as good. Not as nimble. As fast. He's heavier than Leo, despite being younger, he's slower.

He looks across to see Leo leaning forward on his palms turned backwards against the concrete parapet of the opposite building. He's looking down at the cars racing between the buildings like ants racing along with sparklers in their mandibles.

"I can't," Raph calls weakly, hating to admit it, but not sure what else to do. Besides, he can trust Leo. He's the only one who he can actually open up to without fear of judgement or teasing.

Somehow Leo hears this. His head jerks up. "Yeah you can! 'Course you can!"

Raph glances around. The light is stretching pale yellow further into the sky. "We gotta get home," he hedges. "It's just about dawn!"

"Don't be scared!"

Raphael stiffens. "I ain't!"

"Well, come on!"

Raphael hesitates. Fear leaves his palms cold and wet. His legs twitch. There's a part of him that thinks he _can_ do it, but only because Leo seems so sure of him.

"I'll catch you!"

Raph looks up. Leo has backed up a little, arms open, outstretched. Ready. Waiting to catch him.

Raphael's feet shift back and back again. Before he knows it, his legs are pumping and his arms are swinging as he runs as fast as he can. He runs and crosses the distance to the edge and feels all the tension building into a ball of immense force in his legs and as he springs all the confusion, the fears just vanish as he traverses that impossible gulf between them.

He leaps.

Eyes wild, mouth open. Arms out, breath stolen – never doubting he'll be caught.

Leo's there, eyes dark and true as a summer sky. Happy and shining brighter than the rising sun. He's laughing out loud, and it's like music, like all the music in the world; standing strong, braced, ready to catch him when he lands.

And Raph might as well be flying across for all his happiness. In fact, it feels exactly like he's flying.

Flying home.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> This might have been the most emotional ending of a story I've ever written. Thank you, so much, for reading this and sharing your thoughts and leaving comments or even just giving it a try. 
> 
> I appreciate every one of you. So much.
> 
> The 2015 StealthyStories FanFiction Competition is under way! Even if you did not send in a nomination you can vote - after the reading period is over - sometime around April 6th. Please consider participating. It's a wonderful way to spread the love for our fandom's amazing writers. The link to the site is on my profile page. 
> 
> Thank you.


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